Every conversation carried an unspoken meaning.
Every moment of silence reminded me of what we had done.
At a café, Jake watched me stirring my coffee.
“Are you going to hate me now?”
I looked up.
“No.”
“Because I think I might hate myself for a while.”
I put down my spoon.
“Don’t make this entirely about guilt. You need to learn from it. So do I.”
“Do you regret it?”
The question was so direct that I couldn’t answer immediately.
“Yes,” I finally said. “I regret hurting Tom. I regret betraying the trust he placed in me. And I regret that we let our feelings become an excuse to ignore what was right.”
Jake lowered his eyes.
“But,” I continued, “I can’t pretend the experience didn’t reveal things about myself that I need to face.”
He looked at me.
“Like what?”
“Like how lonely I’ve become in my marriage. Like how easily I can mistake being understood for being loved in the way I need. And like how badly I need to stop avoiding difficult conversations.”
