It was right. Being with her and sitting next to her felt right. Having her sit on my lap and holding her felt right, too.
“I was the one who robbed your dad. I took the money—it was my fault.”
“That’s why you went to Elijah?”
Her head moved up and down. She whispered, with tears streaming down her face, “I’m sorry, Luke. I’m so sorry.”
Three years.
That sat on the bottom of my stomach for a year, four months, two weeks, and one day. My hand curved around the door handle, and I held onto it tightly. Glancing at her as she drove, I watched as she bit her lip. She was always biting her lip. There were bags underneath her eyes, and her arm was rigid.
Three years. I didn’t know if I could make that okay in my head. If she could lie about that, then… What else was she lying about? a voice
