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“First of all, no charges can be filed! I’m not a criminal! I’m a senator.” Gaby laughed. “You know those aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive.”
She’d never read it, never asked to read it, and until now had never been curious to do so. People should be allowed their secrets. People should be allowed their scars.
“You don’t know if he’s unbiased,” Lucas said. “Maybe he thinks all women belong in the kitchen. Maybe he hates his mom. Maybe he chops up women and leaves them in a freezer.” Cleo wasn’t sure whether she was raising a feminist or a serial killer.
“The right thing to do is often not the most prudent thing to do,” Bowen cautioned.
That was how regrets worked, she supposed, there in his office, with the heavy cloud of hindsight. It wasn’t the murky middle parts or even the earth-shattering consequences that you so often wished you could go back and redo. It was the inception, of stopping something even before it began, that you lingered on.
