Her words were sharp and deliberate. They stung, but I maintained my composure. I smiled, but it wasn’t a smile of warmth. It was tight, serious, a mask of resolve.
“Tina,” I began, my voice steady, “we’ve been working together for years. We’ve been friends for far more. If you don’t know what kind of man I am by now—if, after all these years, you haven’t figured that out—then why are you still here? Over all this time, I must have shown something. There must have been signs. Were there ever signs that I am the man you’re accusing me of being?”
She shook her head slowly, a small gesture that carried weight. “No,” she admitted, her voice soft but firm. “I haven’t.“
“That’s not the kind of person I am.”
I leaned back in my chair, exhaling quietly. “I know this situation with Mina was a s
