His words are raw. His words are real. His words are more than I can be, more than I can take, more than I can stand. But I do. I let them in. The edges of this are sharp, sharp and unbearable, unbearable and soft, soft in ways I don’t expect, in ways I don’t believe, in ways I don’t let mysel
The words are impossible to hold, impossible to ignore. They open the air, open my thoughts, open the rawness of this. The world shifts, shifts with the truth, shifts with the unbearable reminder. I watch him, and I don’t know how to be this woman, how to be this woman with Lucas in my office, with
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to be. “You knew,” I say, and it is more than an accusation, more than I mean, more than I want to admit, more than I am ready to admit. “I suspected,” Lucas says, and the rawness of his words surprises me, the rawness of it cuts, the rawness of it heals.
I am the only shadow in the office, the only soul haunting the dim spaces. The rain is a secret I cannot hold; it taps out my betrayals in staccato against the glass. My breath comes as jagged as the papers on my desk. My pulse as uneven. I know he will find me. I know he will be here. And then he i
I connect the dates, and the lines, and the dots, and the signatures, and the signatures that are not mine, that are not mine. It fits together, and I fall apart. The sudden and harsh buzz of the phone shakes me from my thoughts, from my certainty, from my resolve. The sound is louder than it sh
I lock the study door behind me, and the soft click is a soft reminder of what is closed off, what is secure, what is certain. It echoes through the house, echoes through me, echoes in the parts of me that hurt and the parts of me that know. My footsteps are deliberate against the wooden floor, deli