“You didn’t imagine it.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you loved him.”
She looked at me.
“And what good did that do me?”
I had no clever answer.
So I gave her the truth.
“It doesn’t make what he did your fault.”
For a long moment, she watched me.
Then she looked away, and tears began slipping down her cheeks.
She wiped them quickly, almost angrily.
“I hate this.”
“What part?”
“Being the woman everyone feels sorry for.”
“You’re not a woman to feel sorry for.”
She raised an eyebrow through her tears.
“That sounded better in your head, didn’t it?”
“Much better.”
Despite everything, she laughed.
I smiled.
Then her expression grew serious again.
“Do you know what hurts most?”
“What?”
“I spent twenty-two years making sure everybody else had what they needed. Daniel had a good childhood. Michael had a comfortable home to return to. My in-laws had someone to call when they were sick. I remembered birthdays, anniversaries, appointments, school events, every little thing that kept our lives moving.”
