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“The thing is,” Gwen said, muffled again against her dress, “I think I could love a man. I just … haven’t. I don’t notice many people in that way. And if I could love a man, then surely I should try. It would make everything so much easier.”
She felt like her chest was breaking open, tectonic shifts exposing the softest, most vulnerable parts of her. She hated that she’d cried on Bridget’s shoulder so often while Arthur had been unwell; that she’d let her guard down completely and made it clear how much she needed Bridget, when all the while Bridget must have just been humoring her, holding her hand to get her through it, one foot already out the door.
this is evil
