Page 157 of Bitter’s Sweet

“Was it?”

His jaw tightens.

He could say yes. He could say it scared him. He could admit he did this because something real made him panic.

It would not fix anything. I am not sure I could forgive him.

But at least I would know I had not invented the whole thing.

Bitter looks at the floor for one second, then back at me.

“I told you what I was.”

My chest goes numb.

I nod.

“Yes.”

His face flinches.

“You did.”

I understand now.

Or at least I think I do.

Maybe that is worse.

I thought his actions mattered more than his warnings. I thought the man who fixed my lock, asked before touching Mama’s picture, kept his hands off me when I said no, and looked terrified by the word trust was becoming somebody different with me.

Maybe I only saw what I wanted to see.

Maybe he wasn't changing.

Maybe he was just trying something on, and I was stupid enough to call it real.

I turn toward the door.

“Sweet.”

I stop.

I should not.

I know better.

Still, I stop.

Behind me, Bitter breathes hard.

I count without meaning to.

One.

Two.

Three.