now every memory seemed to have two different versions.
The one I had known.
And the one that had actually happened.
I only said one thing:
—You were right. That was our last photo.
He left.
Six months have passed since that day.
We haven’t spoken since.
He has sent me two letters.
I haven’t answered any of them.
But the strangest thing is that I still haven’t deleted our last photo.
Sometimes I open it and stare at our smiling faces for a long time.
In that picture, I am still the woman who believes that the person sitting next to her is the most loyal friend she has ever had in her entire life.
And Susan already knows that, just a few hours later, her whole life is going to change.
Sometimes people ask me if I will ever be able to forgive her.
I still don’t have
