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He doesn't regret it. I replay his words, gulping.

I want to say something, but I'm too afraid to say anything. I shouldn't rejoice from any of this. This is pure fact yet my heart blossoms at this warm reveal from him. I'm inclined to be happy despite the situation.

"But you're right." Red frees my hand, sighing in defeat as my eyes drop about my same bereft hand. "It shouldn't have happened," he says and I look up at him stoutly.

His eyes are filled with bemusement. He's clearly torn, but he's also very sure of his standing on the matter as he quickly masks the indecisiveness with a bold, unwavering look.

Despite the heartache, I pull myself together and respond. "You're right. It shouldn't have happened." My voice is very low and I think I'm to blame for everything; I provoked him too much. "I'm sorry, Red. If I didn't—"

"Don't be sorry. Please don't ever say that!" Red admonishes and he sounds serious. He moves closer, holds my face and adds, "Because I . . . am not sorry, Mia." H
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