The truth is a bit stupid really. The secret I worked so hard, for all these years, to keep a secret, turned out to be something so unimportant to you, that the hell I've gone through to keep you in the dark doesn't seem worth it. Because I worked so hard to protect you. Because I know what it's like to be hurt, as do you, and there was no way on earth I was going to let you get hurt again.
So you can shout at me all you want. Ignore my tears all you want. You can walk away from me, and run me over with your words, and make out like you don't care, all you want.
You can call me stupid for fearing something I have every right to fear, because you simply don't know the reason. I've protected you this far, and I'm not about to stop.
Because, for all your shouting, ignoring, and walking away, you do love me. And it would kill you to know what had happened on that one night when I got the train home alone.