It occurs to me now that the sharpest feeling I had in that moment was not one of betrayal but one of shame. It was the shame of witnessing a private moment, of seeing something I was not supposed to see. The intimacy of it, the tenderness of that touch, the way they broke apart—and yet it was I who felt indiscreet and indecent. It seemed clear I couldn’t stay there, a trespasser where I didn’t belong.
