He pressed his lips together.
“I made mistakes.”
“You made decisions.”
He looked at me.
“I am sorry, Evelyn.”
I studied his face.
Perhaps he meant it.
Perhaps he was sorry about the money, the exposure, the failed relationship, or the possibility that his reputation would never recover.
Perhaps, somewhere beneath all of that, he was finally sorry for what he had done to me.
I could not know.
And I no longer needed to know.
“I hope you become a better man, Victor,” I said. “But I will not spend the rest of my life waiting for you to become one.”
I stood and walked toward Grace.
Victor did not follow.
I moved into a modest two-bedroom apartment on the other side of town.
It was nothing like the house we had shared, but sunlight filled the living room every morning, and I could open the windows without asking anyone’s permission.
