Page 164 of Suite 7

But to listen.

And maybe that’s enough.

I press send.

Three dots appear almost immediately.

Kane: Thank you.

That’s all. Just thank you.

Not I’ll explain everything or you’ll understand or please forgive me.

Just gratitude that I’m willing to listen.

It’s the first thing he’s done right since Sunday.

Tuesday, three twenty-two PM

* * *

I left work early. Told my assistant I was sick. Not entirely a lie. My stomach’s been in knots all day.

I’m lying on my couch, staring at my ceiling, when my phone buzzes.

Vera’s name lights up the screen.

My heart stops.

I stare at it. Let it buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

It goes to voicemail.

Ten seconds later, a text.

Vera: I know you probably don’t want to talk to me. I understand. But I need you to know I’m sorry. I love you. I miss you. And I’m here whenever you’re ready.

I read it five times.

Now you miss me? Now you’re sorry?

You should have thought about that before you lied.

I miss you too.

What if I can’t forgive you?

What if I can?

My thumb hovers over the keyboard. I could respond. Could call her. Could scream at her or cry or demand explanations.

Instead, I set the phone down. Walk to my window and look out at the city.

Vera and I used to do this — her place, my place, wherever felt right that week. Wine and takeout and whatever needed to be said. She told me everything.

Or I thought she did.

I think about Sidney. How dating Kane cost us everything — slowly, then completely, until there was nothing left to save. How I swore I’d never let that happen again. How I warned Vera about this scenario.