Maybe I misread everything from her all these years. Every look, every word, every touch. Maybe we weren’t as close as I thought. I wanted to ask her about it. We’d never had that talk like we’d agreed to, and I needed to know. Why had she run from me? And why hadn’t she told me about this scar when she was lucid? If she hadn’t been medicated, would she have ever told me about it? She probably didn’t remember that I knew. And now that I thought about it, standing here, pretending I didn’t know who’d done this to her felt like another betrayal to Tessa. A betrayal I needed to come clean with.
