A better man would have been grateful for such sweet concern. And a part of him was grateful. A part of him wanted to fall at her feet and weep. But that bitter, scarred-over half of his soul couldn’t stomach her pity. The devil in him would lash out at her in some unthinking, unforgivable way—until she was so busy licking her own wounds, she couldn’t spare a thought for his. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked. “Yes,” he said sternly. “You can let me be.” See? She looked wounded already. For her own sake, and that of the son she would bear him, he had to push her away.
