“I know that too.”
Her voice dropped.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
I looked at her.
“You’re not.”
Michelle stared ahead.
“I think about you when you’re not in the room.”
That confession changed everything.
She finally turned toward me.
“I noticed you the first day you walked through my door,” she whispered. “And I hated myself for noticing.”
My chest tightened.
Then she reached over and placed her hand on mine.
Not accidentally.
Not as an excuse.
Her fingers closed gently around mine.
“I don’t know where this goes,” she said.
I turned my hand beneath hers and held on.
“Neither do I.”
From the trail behind us came a familiar voice.
“Michelle?”
We both froze.
Michelle pulled her hand away.
Standing several yards behind the bench was my mother.
And judging by her face, she had seen enough.
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