The soft part of my brain I’ve never been able to fix spins off into a fantasy. He can’t do it—he can’t let me walk away. It’s only been eight months, but what we have is real. I’ve never felt this way before, as if I’m punch drunk twenty-four-seven, walking on clouds. He’s angry now, but deep down, he knows me. He’ll take a breath. Think it through. He’ll realize it’s all a mistake. He’s the smartest man I’ve ever known. He won’t let a misunderstanding tear us apart.
