“I didn’t know where to find you,” he said.
“That was intentional.”
“I called your old bank.”
“I know.”
“They wouldn’t give me your address.”
“They shouldn’t have.”
“I called Aunt Miriam.”
“She didn’t know.”
“She thought you might be staying with someone.”
“I’m not.”
He nodded, looking down at the table.
“I was worried.”
“I believe you.”
His eyes lifted.
“That’s all?”
“What else should I say?”
“That you were worried about us too.”
“I was.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
The question came out with a mixture of anger and pleading.
I folded my hands together.
“Because worrying about you has become more important to me than taking care of myself.”
He looked away.
“I never asked you to leave.”
“You asked me to give you space.”
“Chelsea asked.”
“And you agreed.”
“I didn’t know what to say.”
