“Maybe not,” Elle says, her voice quiet and certain, “but just once in my life, I want someone who puts me first, and I knew right then that he was never going to be that person.” Our eyes meet as she says it, and behind that set jaw I see something fragile about her that I wish I didn’t. It’s something I saw in her face even when she was little. I still remember the way her mother would simply forget to come pick her up from our house, the glance the housekeeper and nanny exchanged when someone finally showed up. I think of all this as our eyes lock, and I find myself hoping one day she will
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