“Remember when I lied to you about cheating?” My mood instantly blackens. I hate that part of our lives, even if it shaped who we are today. But what I hate the most is the feelings from back then. It’s true that she didn’t cheat, that she was as faithful to me as I was to her, but at one point, I believed it. And that pain split me in two, and because I was miserable, I hurt her. “Why are you bringing that up?” I ask. “I’m curious. If you believed I cheated, how come you never let me go? Wouldn’t that have been the most logical thing to do?” “Not to me. I would rather have you, even knowing
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