I look up at his face. It’s a face I have loved, a face I still love. A face that looks anguished by the hurt he has caused. I believe it, believe that he is sorry.
I shake my head. “I could never hate you,” I exhale.
He searches my face, hearing the ‘but’ I didn’t say.
“I just wish,” I whisper, “more than anything, that it hadn’t been you who broke my heart. I never thought it would be you - I never thought you could do anything wrong. I wish more than anything it hadn’t happened, that we didn’t end like this.”
She smiles faintly at my surprise. “No, he’s a good guy,” she agrees. “But it’s more than that - he understands people. He makes you feel understood. I think that’s dangerous. It makes you feel like he pays attention to you. It makes you feel like he thinks you’re special. When really, he’s like that way with everyone.”
Vaguely I wonder when he broke her heart. Vaguely I wonder if it is still breaking.