“And he wrote ‘no hard feelings’?”
“Yes.”
Diane dropped the invitation onto the counter like it was contaminated. “Please tell me you’re not going.”
I looked at the invitation. Then the papers. Then my sister.
“I think I am.”
That was the first time in four years I smiled—and it wasn’t a soft smile. It was the kind that comes right before a woman stops apologizing for her existence.
I told Diane about Julian. About how serious it had become. About how terrified I still was to trust anyone after Garrett. Diane listened, then said the thing I needed to hear.
“You are not the problem. Garrett just taught you to think you were.”
