“For what?”
“For every time I let you convince me you were fine.”
The words struck somewhere deeper than the bruises.
“Liam—”
“I knew.”
“No.”
“I knew enough.”
He looked toward the floor.
“When I saw your wrist last year, I knew. When you stopped coming to Sunday dinner, I knew. When you started sending Mom birthday gifts instead of visiting because Ethan was always ‘traveling,’ I knew something was wrong.”
“You couldn’t have forced me to leave.”
“I could have tried harder.”
“And what would that have done?”
He looked up.
I already knew the answer.
It would have frightened me.
It would have made Ethan suspicious.
It might have driven me further away.
I reached across the bed.
Liam took my hand.
“You kept answering my calls,” I told him. “Even when I said nothing for ten minutes.”
His mouth trembled.
“You were breathing.”
I frowned.
“What?”
