That made it worse.
Something about Daniel’s face that night kept bothering me.
He hadn’t looked guilty.
He had looked devastated.
There was a difference, and I simply couldn’t explain it.
Months after the divorce, I replayed that conversation in my head.
I blamed myself for everything.
Maybe I had missed something.
Maybe I was too needy.
Maybe I wasn’t enough.
Maybe he had met someone and just didn’t have the courage to admit it.
Every possibility hurt.
