He shut his laptop whenever I walked into the room.
Once, I saw a folder in his bag with my name printed on a tab.
“What’s that?” I asked.
He zipped the bag too quickly.
“Just paperwork,” he said. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
I wanted so badly to believe we were past the hard part that I forced myself to believe him.
At graduation, I sat in the audience crying before the ceremony even ended.
