When Caleb and I walked through the entrance holding hands, her conversation stopped.
She stared at our joined hands.
Then she looked at me.
“So it’s true,” she said.
I took a breath.
“Yes. We’re together.”
“You expect me to believe this just happened after everything?”
“I expect you to understand that you don’t get to decide who we love.”
Her face tightened.
“You were my best friend.”
“I know.”
“And he was my boyfriend.”
“I know that, too.”
“Then how could you do this to me?”
I felt the old urge to explain myself, to apologize for having feelings, to make her understand that I had not planned any of this.
But I was tired of explaining my heart to someone who had already decided it was guilty.
“Delaney, I did not have an affair with Caleb while you were together. We proved that. You accused me of stealing from children. You tried to damage my career. You tried to interfere with his job.”
