“The first time we spoke after you came home, you said you hated me. Is that still true?” Breathing shallowly, I hesitate before shaking my head. “Say it out loud. I want to hear you say it.” Something about the dark, intense tone of his voice makes me tremble. Not from fear, inconveniently. I whisper, “It’s not true. I don’t hate you. I wish I could, but I don’t. I never have.”
