That deflates him. He sighs, slumps a bit, then nods. “Yeah. You’re right.” He runs a hand through his thin hair and the glarefades into this puppy-dog pleading that used to work on me, once upon a time. “I’ve been thinking about seeing a therapist.Getting help for this. I want to be a better man for you, Clara. I just… I need you home. I need you and Willow home, with me,supporting me.”
I wish I could take a moment to unpack whatever’s going on deep inside me. Because I know, if this conversation had happenedweeks ago, I would be a sobbing mess in his arms. I would cling to his sweet, empty promises and beg for his forgiveness for
ever leaving him, for taking Willow, for making him suffer loneliness.
But it’s happening right now. After weeks of living with Demyen, in his w
