In all his thirty-two years, John had never known regret like this.
If only he’d been wiser. If only he hadn’t been so quick to believe Susan’s lies. If only he had stopped to question, to verify, to see the truth in Mary’s eyes instead of condemning her with his blind pride.
Now, looking at her fragile body wasting away in the hospital bed, John felt as though his heart was being crushed in his chest. He had done this. Every cruel word, every cold dismissal, every selfish choice had carved her down to this frail shadow.
And for what? For pride. For the delusion that Mary’s parents had sponsored him because they saw potential in him, not out of kindness. For the bitterness he clung to instead of love.
But the truth was, from the very first time he saw her, he had liked her.
The girl w
