He flinched.
“I loved you.”
“I believe you loved being loved by me.”
His eyes reddened.
“Does Ethan hate me?”
“No.”
Relief appeared.
“But he does not trust you,” Olivia said. “That is different, and harder to repair.”
Andrew lowered his eyes.
For the first time since the gate, he did not argue.
“What do I do?”
Olivia studied him.
Years earlier, that question would have drawn her back. She would have built him a path, softened the consequences, and called it marriage.
Not anymore.
“You tell the truth,” she said. “Then you keep telling it, especially when it costs you.”
She walked away.
One year later, Olivia and Ethan lived in a smaller home in La Jolla with white walls, a lemon tree, and a kitchen table always covered with homework, chess pieces, and cereal bowls. Their life was not grander.
It was lighter.
Andrew saw Ethan every other Saturday.
