The rain had started minutes after I left Clara’s apartment, soft at first, then heavier falling against the windshield like a lullaby I wasn’t ready to listen to, not with my heart still pounding from everything I’d admitted.
I had never said his name out loud like that before not with that softness, that ache, that stupid, terrifying hope that maybe last night had meant more than bodies burning quietly beneath the weight of what we never said.
The heater blew warm against my legs, but it didn’t stop the chill that rolled down my spine when Clara had looked me in the eye and whispered, “Do you think he loves you… Or do you just want him to?”
I hadn’t answered.
Because I didn’t know.
Because the line between desire and forgiveness blurred the moment his hands found my waist and his mo
