“I know,” I say.
“He made time in the middle of his day,” she presses.
“I know,” I repeat, and her eyes search my face as though looking for approval she already suspects isn’t coming.
“Say something,” she demands.
I hesitate because silence protects people and sometimes it protects the wrong thing.
“What changed?” I ask breaking the silence.
She frowns. “What do you mean?”
“You told me last week he’d figure something out,” I press.
She says nothing.
“Today he told you he needs a little more time.”
“It’s different,” she argues.
“How?” I ask.
“He explained everything,” she defends.
“So did Dylan,” I say, and the words leave my mouth before I have time to soften them.
Ginger blinks. For a moment neither of us speaks.
“My marriage didn’t fall apart because of one enormous betra
