And the man was someone she'd mentioned once in passing—her childhood sweetheart, Humphrey Sawyer.
Maybe because the confrontation and confession were already behind us, Ida didn't bother making excuses this time.
She answered the call right in front of me.
"I'm on my way. Wait for me."
After she hung up, she didn't bother with the wound on her hand. She just grabbed her car keys and rushed for the door.
At the entryway, she stopped and turned to look at me, her eyes dark and unreadable.
Her voice was heavy with disappointment. "You never used to be like this, Roland."
Never used to be like what?
Offering her my whole heart on a platter, only to let her shred me to pieces?
I'd cared too much. I couldn't bear to let go of ten years together.
And at the time, she'd been pregnant.
So I swallowed the pain and chose to forgive her.
She promised to keep her distance.
And how did that turn out?
The scar on my hand was proof enough of how stupid I'd been.
I ran my thumb along that scar. The old wound felt like it was splitting open again, oozing, the pain so sharp I couldn't breathe.
A sudden slam shattered my thoughts.
Ida had walked out and let the door crash shut behind her.