Page 174 of Unexpected Heroine

His protectiveness.

He did so many things right with me. Some mountainous and some minuscule. All of them mattered.

There’s no question that the lies he told were big.

No. Not big.

They were fucking huge.

But are they worth losing everything else over?

Perhaps it’s my middle-of-the-night loneliness talking, but I have to wonder if his deceit was so heavy that it outweighed all the rest. And what about why he lied? Do his motives matter? Should they?

Knowing him the way I do—or the way I thought I did—I strongly suspect he had good reasons. Just like Papa had reasons for lying to me.

In the middle of my hasty exit, I paused to ask Tomer to explain. But he was too upset to talk to me in a way I understood. He was doing his own squirrel brain thing.

Then I left before he could get his shit together and communicate.

Does he deserve another chance to explain? And in what possible scenario would it be okay for him to have lied about not only his name and job but who my father is?

Maybe these late-night bathtub musings are simply the result of my broken heart aiming to excuse what he did so I can stop missing him. How can I trust my head or my heart at a time like this?

Does what I feel matter more than what I know? At what point is love no longer enough to allow for forgiveness?

I won’t get these answers tonight or perhaps ever.

All I can do now is make do, treasuring the good times we had. With two taps on my screen, I turn on the song. Our song.

For the first time since I sang it to keep myself sane in a house of horrors, I sing along with lyrics that have always affected me in ways I can’t describe. The song Papa used to play for me when I had trouble sleeping. I let that music wrap its thread around me, attempting to stitch my life together again.

Keeping the volume low so I don’t disturb Stella in the next room, I set the phone down on the edge of the tub, wrap my arms around my shins, and rest my head on my knees.

Butterflies are free to fly.

That’s what Elton John says. Either he’s a damn liar, or I’m not a butterfly after all.

If I were truly free, I’d fly right to the man I love.

By the time the song has played through three times, I’ve typed out a single text to him.

After the fifth play, I hit send.

When I hum the bridge leading to the chorus a few plays later, I break out in a coughing attack. All because Stella’s fucking blue hair is caught in the back of my throat.

Classic Lettie. Nearly choking to death in a waterless tub.

Chapter 32

Time for a "chat" with pliers

TOMER

Sugar Bear:

At what point does love stop being enough?

My eyes blink repeatedly as I reread the words of her text. The raucous beating of my heart becomes distracting, so I have to read it a third time.

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