“I know.”
“I never knew.”
“I believe you.”
That mattered.
Believing him did not mean excusing him.
For the first time, I understood that both could exist together.
Daniel folded the letter carefully.
“I have my first therapy appointment Thursday.”
“Good.”
“I almost canceled it.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought I could fix this myself.”
I stared at him.
He gave a broken laugh.
“I heard it as soon as I thought it.”
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then he slid his phone across the table.
“What?”
“The password is 1108.”
“To what?”
“Everything.”
“I don’t want your passwords.”
“I want you to know I have nothing else hidden.”
I pushed the phone back.
“Then stop hiding things. That’s more useful than proving I can search for them.”
He stared at me.
Then nodded.
My surgery was nine days away.
I thought the worst discovery was behind us.
I was wrong.
