“What can I say to get you to see what I see when I look at you?” I swallow my pride. If he’s being sincere, then I guess I will too. I lower my shackles, and a quiet, sad laugh leaves me. “I’m pretty sure that every time you look at me, you’re reminded of how we met. You probably see nothing but desperation and selfishness.” “I wish that’s what I saw,” he admits.
