The words are out before I can stop them: “Why didn’t you call me today?” “What?” he asks, clearly thrown off by my question. “You didn’t try to call me today.” I sound pathetic. “I didn’t think you wanted me to.” “I don’t, but still.” “Well, I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says calmly. “Don’t get off the phone yet.” “I’m not . . . I was just saying that I’ll call you tomorrow, even if you don’t pick up,” he explains and my heart leaps.
“I love you so much.” He grabbed my hand again. “So much that when you hurt, I hurt. When you’re stressed, I am. I hate that I’m doing this to you. You’re my life, and if anything’s breaking you, it’s me. I should be the one suffering, but I’m just inflicting it.”
He nodded. “Just…” He sighed. “Let’s agree to disagree. No matter what you say or do, you’ll never get me to believe you. I’ve lived for too long believing things others wanted me to believe, and it’s brought me nothing but hardship. I know what I saw. I know what I feel. She’s gone, and I won’t have her memory tarnished.”
His shoulders slumped. “Just… accept and let’s move on. Okay? It’s best for both of us.”