“I didn’t want you to know that you could break my heart.” Her brown eyes, behind beautiful smoky eye makeup, glisten. “I didn’t want Clay Collins to ever know that . . .” She pauses, the eyes and whispers around us, my family in the audience, and Wentworth’s booming voice onstage not nearly as loud as my heart. “That she has always broken my heart,” she tells me. “I love you.”
