I--39-m Not The One Sam Smith -

“No,” she said quietly. “We don’t fix it. I do. I patch the holes you punch in the wall. I smooth over the lies. I tell myself you’ll change. But I’m not the one who has to change, Sam.”

“Emma.” His voice cracked. Real this time. “Please.” I--39-m Not The One Sam Smith

The color drained from his face, then rushed back in a guilty flush. “That wasn’t—I was drunk. You know how I get when I’m drunk.” “No,” she said quietly

Emma looked past him. On the nightstand was a photo of them from last summer—sunburned noses, tangled legs on a beach blanket. She’d been so happy then. So blind. I patch the holes you punch in the wall

“I’m not the one… who’s gonna hurt you… I’m not the one…”

The cold night air hit her face as she walked to the car. She didn’t cry. Not yet. She got in, turned the key, and the radio flickered on—low, almost hesitant. And then, like the universe had a sick sense of humor, Sam Smith’s voice filled the car.