And she had kept it from me not because she didn’t trust me. I understood that with a certainty that had nothing to do with reason.
She had kept it because she was protecting something. Whether that was him, or herself, or some complicated grief that she hadn’t finished processing, she had her reasons.
She always had her reasons.
And I would wait.
She would tell me when she was ready, or she wouldn’t, and either way I would know what I already knew; she had come running to me. Whatever had happened in that alley, she had chosen where to go afterward.
She had chosen me.
I looked down at her. At the hand curled around my thumb in her sleep. At the particular way her face relaxed in rest, losing the careful management she wore during waking hours.
Trust her, something in me said. Giv
