I believed him. Every single time.
I caught myself glancing at his hands.
Meanwhile, my friends got married. Even my younger cousin, Megan, tied the knot at 24, and I laughed too loudly to cover the ache. Then there was Diane, my stepmother, who never missed a chance to twist the knife.
« Sandra, honey, » she said at Thanksgiving two years ago, in front of the whole table. « You’re the girlfriend who couldn’t close the deal! »
Everyone laughed. I did, too. I’m good at laughing.
There were other things I was good at ignoring, or at least that’s what I told myself.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a quiet list was writing itself.
- The way Aaron took quiet phone calls out in the garage, his voice dropping the second I opened the door.
- The locked drawer in his desk that he said held « old tax stuff. »
- The name « Vanessa » that flashed across his phone one night, which he explained away as a coworker.
« You’re not the jealous type, are you, baby? » my long-term boyfriend asked, smiling.
I wasn’t. I made sure of that.
A quiet list was writing itself.
