But I wasn’t moved.
Not yet.
“Did you kiss her?”
Silence.
That silence told me everything.
I sat down.
“How many times?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“Last week.”
Rachel had been in the house.
Under my roof.
And I had been apologizing to her for being suspicious.
I felt sick.
Daniel reached for my hand.
I pulled away.
“Don’t.”
He nodded.
“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“You don’t.”
The next morning, Rachel packed her things.
Before she left, she stood in the doorway.
“I am sorry.”
I looked at her.
“I know.”
“I love you.”
I believed her.
That was the cruelest part.
I believed that she loved me.
People can love you and still hurt you.
That took me a long time to understand.
Daniel and I separated.
For months, people asked me why.
I never gave them the entire story.
I didn’t want my marriage to become entertainment.
I didn’t want my sister’s mistake to become family gossip.
And I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life explaining why I had stayed as long as I did.
Because eventually, I understood something else.
I hadn’t been stupid.
I had trusted people I loved.
