Chapter 25
“This is the first birthday I’ve been here for.”
My anger had changed over the months.
It had not vanished.
It had simply stopped needing to draw blood.
“You have the rest.”
He looked at me.
“That sounds like permission.”
“It’s a fact.”
“I’ll take it.”
I leaned against the railing.
For a while, we stood without speaking.
Then Adrian said, “I loved you.”
Past tense.
The words surprised me.
“I know.”
“I think part of me expected that if I said it enough now, it would repair what I did then.”
“It won’t.”
“I know.”
He looked toward the yard.
“So I stopped saying it.”
I turned toward him.
“Why?”
“Because you shouldn’t have to carry my feelings while deciding what to do with your own.”
That was not something the man I married would have understood.
Maybe that was why it mattered.
“Adrian.”
He looked at me.
“I loved you too.”
His breath changed.
“I know.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I mean I never stopped.”
He went completely still.
“That doesn’t mean I trusted you.”
“I know.”
“It doesn’t mean I wanted you back.”
“I know.”
“I hated you and loved you at the same time for years.”
Something almost like relief crossed his face.
“I deserved the first part.”
“Probably.”
“And the second?”
“That was my problem.”
A small laugh escaped him.
Then his expression became serious.
“Is it still?”
I looked through the window.
Noah was trying to steal frosting.
Lily was yelling at him.
Teresa was pretending not to notice.
Marcus stood in the corner holding three gift bags while looking like a man reconsidering every decision that had led him into this family.
My family.
Our family.
“I don’t know.”
Adrian nodded.
He did not push.
That mattered more than any declaration could have.
A year after I returned to Chicago, I went back to the Moretti house for the first time.
Not Teresa’s house.
His.
Our old home.
Adrian had asked me to come because Noah wanted a telescope he had stored in the attic.
The house looked almost exactly as I remembered.
That was worse than if he had changed everything.
The dining room table still stood beneath the same chandelier.
I stopped in the doorway.
Six years disappeared.
White papers.
A pen.
Adrian standing near the window.
A mistake.
My chest tightened.
Adrian noticed.
“We can leave.”
“No.”
“You don’t have to do this.”