She seemed pleased with herself.
That frightened me more than her anger would have.
At night, Grayson talked about our future. He discussed holidays, renovations, and the possibility of having children. He asked whether I preferred a larger kitchen or a bigger bedroom if we eventually bought a house.
Sometimes, I caught myself responding naturally.
Sometimes, I laughed at one of his jokes before remembering what I knew.
That was the strangest part of betrayal: the body did not always receive the news at the same speed as the mind.
I could know a man had lied to me and still instinctively reach for his hand when we crossed a road.
I could hear his voice in the next room and still turn toward it, expecting comfort.
I hated myself for that.
Imelda told me not to.
“Your feelings aren’t evidence that the deception didn’t happen,” she said. “They’re evidence that you loved someone. Don’t punish yourself for having believed him.”
