Ch. 14: What the Heart Knows

There were things Nina had learned never to say aloud, and most of them were about he.

There was a history between them that neither would name, written in the things they did not do. The conversation turned, the way conversations do, from the easy things to the ones that mattered. "I'm not asking you to forgive me," Nina said. "I'm asking you to listen."

She remembered the first time, and the last, and all the ordinary days in between that had somehow mattered more. She remembered the first time, and the last, and all the ordinary days in between that had somehow mattered more. Nina crossed the room slowly, aware of every step, of the way he was watching without seeming to.

For a heartbeat the careful distance between them thinned to nothing at all. "I'm not asking you to forgive me," Nina said. "I'm asking you to listen."

For a heartbeat the careful distance between them thinned to nothing at all. For a heartbeat the careful distance between them thinned to nothing at all.

Every choice had a price. Nina had known that for years, and still the knowing never made it easier.

For a heartbeat the careful distance between them thinned to nothing at all. "You shouldn't have come," he said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to. "You shouldn't have come," he said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to.

Whatever came next, there would be no pretending it had not begun.