“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he finally says, letting out a shallow breath. “But I do hope you understand that, for me, it has always been you.” He holds out the paper to me. Hesitantly, I take it, unsure if I should read it now or later. I’m afraid of what it’ll say, but also yearning to know how this plays into whatever we share between us. It has always been you.
