He began crying.
Perhaps the tears were genuine.
Perhaps they weren’t.
For the first time, the distinction no longer mattered.
He looked at me.
“Can you ever forgive me?”
I thought of the lottery ticket.
The hospital room.
The forged documents.
Judith Calder.
Vanessa.
The twenty-eight birthdays we’d missed.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“But forgiveness isn’t something you get to demand.”
He nodded miserably.
I stood.
“Emily, wait.”
I stopped.
“Did you ever love me?”
It was such an astonishing question that I almost smiled.
For years, I’d been the one desperate to prove my love.
Now he wanted reassurance.
I looked at him.
“Yes, Mark.
I loved you more than you deserved.”
He began crying harder.
I continued.
“And that’s the tragedy.
You knew it.
You used it.
And eventually you started believing it meant I belonged to you.”
I turned toward the door.
