“You said that last night.”
“I know. I’ll say it a thousand times, because one apology cannot carry twelve years.”
Continue reading by clicking the ( NEXT 》 ) button below!
“Can I sit with you?”
Her eyes filled, but she kept them on the mug.
“I didn’t lie because I didn’t want you to know him,” I said. “I lied because I loved you badly, like I was the only person who could keep you safe.”
She swallowed. “You made me feel like half of me was rejected.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” she asked. “Every Father’s Day project, every school form, every ‘Ask your dad,’ I thought he chose not to be there.”
“I know.”
My voice shook. “I should have let you know him. I should have let you decide what hurt and what healed. I kept choosing you, but I was taking something from you.”
Iris wiped her cheek. “I don’t know how to forgive that.”
