She stared into her coffee.
“I think he’s lonely.”
“Probably.”
“And I think he really thought this could become something.”
“Probably.”
“So he’s not some monster.”
“I never said he was.”
She looked up.
“That almost makes it harder.”
I understood.
It’s easier to leave someone obviously cruel.
It’s harder when the other person isn’t evil—just wrong for you.
“We’re getting your remaining things,” I said.
Her hands tightened around the coffee cup.
“What if he starts again?”
“Then you don’t debate him.”
“What do I say?”
“The truth.”
“What truth?”
“That you’re leaving.”
We returned to the rental house just after nine.
Before going inside, I texted Ethan the address.
I didn’t tell him to come.
I simply decided that if the situation changed, somebody else should know where we were.
Malcolm opened the door wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt.
