How could she tell him? How could she put into words the years of betrayal, the coldness in his eyes, the other woman's laughter in the halls of the home that should have been theirs?
Her pen hovered above the page.
You won't believe me. You'll call me bitter, cruel. You'll say I've lost my mind. And maybe I have. But listen to me: one day, a woman will come into your life. Her name is Diana Moore. Stay away from her. She will destroy us.
The response came quickly, angry lines etched into the paper:
Diana Moore? That's impossible. I don't care about her. I only care about you. Don't you see? You're everything to me. Why are you saying these things?
Emma's heart twisted. He sounded so young, so certain, so innocent. She wanted desperately to believe him. She wanted to fall into the illusion that this Ethan—the one who hadn't yet betrayed her—could save her from the wreckage of her life.
But she knew better.
Because the boy I loved becomes the man who leaves me. And I don't know how to forgive that.
She closed the workbook gently, resting her forehead against the cover. The night stretched endlessly before her, and she realized that the past and present were colliding in ways she could neither predict nor control.