“Life has a way of circling back.”
“The back had a hidden compartment with the photo of Jason and me inside.”
“He kept it all these years?”
“Looks like it.”
She folded her hands together. “What did you do?”
“I gave it back,” I said.
“You were hurt.”
“I still am.”
“What did you do?”
She nodded. “That’s fair.”
I waited for her to tell me something. To push me toward forgiveness. Or to say that I should visit him.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she said quietly, “I forgave him a long time ago.”
I looked up sharply. “You did?”
“Not for him. For me.”
I frowned. “I didn’t want to carry that anger for the rest of my life.”
“That’s fair.”
“But he left you,” I said. “When you were sick.”
“I know.”
“You almost died.”
