at the cruelty of that answer.
Adrian continued.
“He didn’t want you imagining him wounded or captured. He didn’t want you spending the rest of your life picturing what those weeks were like. He wanted you to believe it happened instantly.”
I stepped backward.
“So he decided what I could handle.”
“He was twenty-three, Mary.”
“So was I.”
Adrian fell silent.
That was what hurt most.
James had decided, out of love, that I was too fragile for the truth.
And in trying to spare me, he had taken away
