Page 32 of If He Hadn't Cheated
I don’t turn. “You weren’t going to say goodbye?” I ask knowing he’s tired of watching me spiral.
“I didn’t leave.”
“You were going to.”
He steps closer. “I came to tell you I spoke with the board. I’m hiring you full-time. The job you were supposed to have is yours. ”
My breath catches. “Why? I didn’t even graduate.”
He shrugs. “So? I own majority share of the company, Lana. I jus need you to accept.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It’s the only one I need.”
I finally look at him. His face is tired. His eyes are clear.
“You did that for me?”
He looks deep into my eyes. “I did it because I’m not done with this.”
“This?”
“You. Me. Whatever this is.”
I lean against the brick wall. “I don’t know what to do with that,” I whisper.
“You don’t have to do anything.”
We stand there in silence. Then he says, “I have something to show you.”
The place he takes me is not what I expect. A small building on the edge of the city. Nondescript. No signs. Just a single keypad at the door.
He types in a code. The door opens.
Inside is warmth. Bookshelves. A couch. Dim lights. A coffee table scattered with notebooks and old pens. It smells like cedar and leather and something sweet I can’t place.
“What is this?” I ask.
“My memory room.”
I frown. “Your what?”
He closes the door behind us. “When things got bad for me, I built this place. I needed somewhere I could come back to. A place untouched by everything else.”
He walks to a shelf and pulls down a photo. Hands it to me. It’s a younger version of him, standing beside a woman with bright eyes and a wild smile. She looks like she belongs to the wind.
“My sister,” he says.
I wait.
“She died. A car accident. I was supposed to pick her up that night. I was late.”
He doesn’t cry. But the silence after those words feels thick. “I blamed myself for years. Still do, some days.”
I set the photo down gently. He walks to the other side of the room and picks up a notebook. “Sometimes I write to her,” he says. “Just so the words don’t die inside me.”
I swallow hard. The lump rising faster by the minute. “Why are you sharing this with me?”
