“I always loved you, Amber, whether you could see it or not,” he said as he stood there, unmoving beside the sofa. “Whether I could see it or not, too.”
Then, without another word, he pushed on, walking to the office, where he closed the door behind himself, leaving me alone.
He had successfully distracted me from my fear of flying, but not in the way I wanted. Instead of a happy distraction, now I was riddled with guilt and regret, thinking of ways to try to make amends with him.
We’d have our chances, I imagined, over the next few weeks, but I still felt bad that I had gone so far.
I wanted to believe that he loved me and that he always had, just as he said, but it was difficult. His actions of the past did not match these words. But that didn’t mean those actions persisted.
He was
