I nodded.
For several seconds, Sloane stared at her coffee. Then she laughed softly. There was no joy in the sound.
The sentence surprised me.
“After everything?”
She looked up.
“Especially after everything.”
I did not understand. Sloane seemed to realize that.
“You know the strange part?” She smiled sadly. “The people who hurt you the most are rarely the people you worry about.”
The words lingered between us.
Then she sighed.
“I spent years hoping Ryan would figure it out.”
My throat tightened.
I thought about the tattoo and the guilt Ryan carried every day.
“He did figure it out.”
Sloane looked away.
“A little late.”
I could not argue.
For a while we sat quietly.
Then I asked, “If he apologized now, would it matter?”
Sloane looked at me. Not angry. Not bitter.
Just tired.
It was the most honest answer she could have given.
Three days later, Ryan knocked on Sloane’s door. I stayed in the car. This was not my conversation.
It never had been.
