Day after day. Year after year. I sank deeper into depression, hurting myself again and again.
Ryan would hold me while I broke apart, sobbing apologies into my hair. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Eventually, time dulled the sharpest edges. Life settled into something quiet. Something bearable.
But it was all a lie I told myself.
He had never forgotten Sandra. Not for a single day.
All he saw was her—her misery, her helplessness. He bent over backward to make it up to her.
He never once saw what he'd cost me. What he'd cost my father.
In the darkness, I heard the soft click of the front door closing. My eyes opened.
Dad... I want to divorce Ryan. You won't blame me, will you?
Sleep wasn't coming. I got up and walked to the corner where my father's portrait sat.
My fingers traced his smiling face. The grief swelled until I couldn't contain it.
Through blurred tears, I accidentally knocked the frame. It clattered to the floor.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" I dropped to my knees, reaching for it.
That's when I saw it.
Behind the shattered frame, tucked against the backing, was a photograph. Color. Glossy.
I pulled it free with trembling hands.
Ryan and Sandra. Together. Smiling.