There was a pause.
Then he said softly, “You won’t walk alone.”
I took a breath that shook.
“Do you know what it felt like to sit on that porch in a dress I bought just to visit you? To hear all of you inside laughing while I sat outside with my suitcase like I was too embarrassing to bring in early?”
He did not answer.
He was quiet so long I thought the call had dropped.
“Do you know what it felt like to realize you were certain I would just accept it? That I would smile and excuse it because you meant well?”
Still nothing.
Then: “Yes.”
I laughed once, sharp and bitter. “No, you didn’t know. Because if you knew, you would have opened the door.”
He was quiet so long I thought the call had dropped again.
Then he said, “You’re right.”
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