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Before he can say anything, I’m spouting out angry words about his nerve and the audacity he has to even show his face. About how angry I am with him and how it’s a wonder he can sleep at night.
He remains silent all through my spiel, and when I’ve tired out, tears running down my face, he finally speaks.
“I know I was wrong. I know I can’t change any of it. But I am here now,Stellina.”
It’s a nickname I’ve heard many times. Times when he aimed to soothe, to please, to push, to pull. It’s a name I can’t handle hearing right now.
“Please,” I whisper, wiping at my face, not knowing what I’m asking of him.
“Tell me what to do,” he insists, his voice not much louder than my own.
I sniff, shutting my laptop and grabbing my things.
“Meet me at the park across the street from my job.”
