He turns his hand over beneath mine, our fingers tangling together. "I'm sorry, Zara. Truly sorry."
This time, I believe he isn't apologizing because he wants forgiveness, he’s apologizing because he finally understands what he tried to take from me.
I nod slowly. “Thank you.”
His shoulders drop almost imperceptibly. “You’re welcome, baby.”
We smile at each other, our eyes holding, and a familiar lick of flame ignited in my stomach, my chest.
“So,” he says. "How are you feeling?"
I laugh softly. "About what, in particular?"
"Dealer's choice."
I think about it. "My life has become unexpectedly complicated."
"I noticed."
"I might have a sister."
"You might."
"My father might be grieving thirty-plus years that he never knew he'd lost."
"He might."
“I might still have cancer, or
