Then she took a deep breath, looked at her hands, and whispered, “Forgiveness.” A burning ache rose in my throat that was both foreign and instantly familiar. “Yours . . . or mine?” I asked, needing to know. I held my breath, trying to hold back my emotion and watched as she tucked her hands in her pockets and seemed to gather her courage. “Both,” she answered. With a deep inhale, she met my gaze. “Will you forgive me, Moses?”
