like an idiot.”
“I explained private equity structures to you once.”
“Yes.”
“For forty minutes.”
“Closer to an hour.”
He covered his face with his hand.
“Oh, God.”
“You were very enthusiastic.”
“Why didn’t you stop me?”
“Because you were happy.”
His smile faded as his hand lowered. That gentle exchange hurt in a way our arguments hadn’t. The marriage contained real moments of laughter and care; his betrayal hadn’t somehow rendered every good memory imaginary. Betrayal hurts because the thing betrayed mattered.
Aaron studied me for a long time.
