showers, and claims that I imagined our distance. His familiar lines returned: “You’re stressed.”
“We haven’t been ourselves lately.”
“It’s just work.” The truth had been arriving for months. The bouquet merely forced me to receive it.
Chapter 3: The confession
I couldn’t sleep. At 11:14 Daniel said he was at the Hampton on Westfield and we needed time. At 11:46 came I’m sorry you’re hurting. I finally cried. He hadn’t apologized for the lies or betrayal; he’d described my suffering like unfortunate weather. I drafted six replies
