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Cedric Raine This woman is not my Leanna. My Leanna was soft and shy. She had a sharp tongue that made unexpected appearances. But I like this Leanna, too. I like how she stands up for herself. She has changed, but then, so have I. I’ve tried everything: talking to her, trying to protect her, telling her the truth about why our son needs me around him. But she doesn’t seem to care about any of it. An apology? I stare blindly into the dark house. Apologize? Me? I think I’ve expressed regret for the way I treated her. Isn’t that an apology? I hear rustling and then catch a familiar scent as Harriet’s weight settles down next to me on the bench. She sighs. “I take it didn’t go well?” “She despises me, Harriet.” It’s a strange feeling, an odd ache in my chest, to be hated by Leanna.
- Writer
