“You,” he said.
“You’re kidding,” I said.
“I’m not,” Dean replied quietly.
“It wasn’t planned. I didn’t mean for it to happen. But every time I saw you… it was different.
I felt seen. I could breathe around you.”
“So what, Dean? You blow up your marriage and now you confess all this to me like it’s some kind of rom-com ending?”
“I didn’t say it hoping for something.
I told you because I needed to be honest. For once in my life, I wanted to say the truth.”
Because the truth is, there had always been something. Small sparks I never dared to feed..
I hated it.
And I hated myself for not hating him enough.
“I need to sleep,” I said quietly. “We’ll deal with this tomorrow.”
In the morning, the police called. They had my things.
I packed up without speaking to Dean.
I couldn’t look at him—not without wanting something I wasn’t ready to want.
Back home, the air felt colder. Quieter. Jolene was still staying at my place.
Later, I opened my phone and found Dean’s contact.
I stared at it for a long time.
Then, against everything I thought I knew, I typed:
“How about coffee sometime?”
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was selfish.
But maybe it was honest.
