“No. They don’t.”
His eyes searched mine.
For the first time, he wondered what I knew.
I did not tell him.
Rebecca’s words echoed in my head.
Let him.
So I carried my suitcase past him.
At the door, he said my name so softly I almost turned.
“Ella.”
I paused.
“I do love you,” he said.
The old me would have taken that sentence in both hands and protected it from every ugly thing around it. She would have believed love could be buried beneath fear, pressure, bad choices, Cynthia’s influence, Brenda’s complications.
But the woman standing in the doorway understood something the bride had not.
Love that required me to ignore the truth was not love. It was a room with no windows.
“I hope one day you understand what that word means,” I said.
Then I left.
In the elevator, my knees nearly gave out.
