“I was trying to protect you.”
“No.”
My voice was quieter than I expected.
“We are done calling it that.”
He looked at me.
“You weren’t protecting me from pain. You were protecting yourself from having to watch me experience it.”
Ethan slowly sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I’m sorry.”
I believed him.
But believing his apology didn’t erase eighteen months.
For the first time since finding Mia’s drawing, I stopped asking questions.
Information had always made fear feel smaller.
