I made a mistake.”
“No.”
“You made choices.”
His eyes filled. I’d loved him since I was twenty-six. I knew the scar by his eyebrow from a bicycle crash, his dislike of damp socks, how he read restaurant menus backward, and the way he rubbed his neck in fear. He was doing that now. Love doesn’t vanish instantly when trust breaks; sometimes it remains but can no longer be used.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he said.
“I believe you.”
“Can we talk about us?”
“No.”
“Not now?”
