She came on a Saturday afternoon.
I had packed her clothes, books, and personal items into boxes. I left her jewelry in its original case and placed the photographs from our wedding in a separate envelope.
When she saw it, she began crying.
“You kept all of them.”
“They’re your photographs too.”
She looked at me.
“Do you hate me?”
I thought about it.
“No.”
She seemed surprised.
“I don’t hate you, Molly. I just don’t trust you.”
She lowered her head.
“I never meant for this to happen.”
I leaned against the kitchen counter.
“That sentence doesn’t mean much when you had so many opportunities to stop it.”
She wiped her cheeks.
“Kai made me feel special.”
I almost smiled.
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
“That’s interesting. He spent our entire childhood making sure I never felt special.”
She looked at me.
For once, she had nothing clever to say.
Then she whispered, “I thought you would fight for me.”
