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I nod.
"And you found out because—?"
"He told me. He also revealed he spied on me."
Her gaze widens. "Edward spied on you?"
"He saw me first, in Brooklyn, when I lived in my father’s house, a year ago. I had graduated and was looking for jobs in New York, and I couldn’t afford to live on my own. I hated having to do it but moving back home helped me save enough to buy a one-way ticket out of there and to London."
"How did he spy on you?"
"He had someone install cameras in my room and bugged my phone. And my Kindle."
"Oh, my god." Summer presses her hands to her mouth. "And he confessed all of this to you?"
"Yep."
"Okay." She runs her fingers through her hair. "How do you feel about it?"
"I don’t know," I say honestly. "When I thought I might be pregnant with his child… I was willing to forgive him for everything. Having a child, the one thing I have always yearned for, seemed to make everything right. But then—"
"—you found out you weren’t."
I nod.
"And now you’re angry with yourself for feeling so ready to forgive him because you thought you got what you wanted, a child?"
I nod again.
"And now you’re wondering what to do?"
I raise my shoulders. "What am I going to do? Do I leave him? And go where? Do what?"
"And what is Edward saying?"
"We haven’t discussed anything in great detail, but he says he's sorry for what he did. No, let me rephrase it: he’s sorry his actions hurt me, but he’s not sorry he did it."
"What does that mean?" She places her chin on her knee.
"That watching me saved him. That if he hadn’t been able to see what I was up to on an ongoing basis, he’s not sure what he would have done."
She rubs at her temples. "Babe, this is a lot to take in."
"You’re telling me."
"No wonder, he thought you could benefit from talking to someone else."
"You’ve known Edward longer than me. What do you make of all this?"
"The fact that he turned stalker on you? That he was so obsessed with you, he had to watch you via secret cameras?"
I wince. "When you put it that way, it does sound creepy."
"Question is, why aren’t you freaking out more about it?"
I throw up my hands. "Don’t you think I’m not asking myself that question? Where is my self-respect, my dignity, my ego? Am I such a doormat that I’ll allow him to get away with what he did?"
"Or maybe, you’re flattered that he was so focused on you?"
