Then she whispered, “I feel stupid.”
“You aren’t.”
“I trusted him.”
“That doesn’t make you stupid.”
“What if I should have known?”
“What if he worked very hard to make sure you didn’t?”
She looked up.
I continued.
“Someone who lies for four years doesn’t get to blame the person who believed him.”
Her eyes filled.
“I don’t know how to start over.”
“You don’t have to figure it all out tonight.”
She leaned toward me.
I opened my arms, and she rested her head against my chest.
I held her while she cried.
For a long time, neither of us moved.
Then she lifted her face.
We were close enough that I could see the tiny gold flecks in her brown eyes.
Her gaze dropped to my mouth.
“Alex,” she whispered.
My heart pounded.
I knew what she was thinking because I was thinking the same thing.
