Page 112 of Molt

“August...”

“I loved Eleanor.”

My breath catches.

“I loved Anna. June. Every version.”

“Because you thought they were Lenora.”

“At first.”

I stare.

He continues. “They were different.” His voice breaks. “God, they were so fucking different.” Tears spill down his face. “Eleanor hated coffee. Anna smoked. June couldn’t stand when I touched her feet. One of you snored so loudly I slept in another room for three years.”

A broken laugh escapes me.

He laughs too. Crying through it.

“I loved them.” His chest rises shakily. “I loved every woman that thing destroyed.”

The anger drains out of me.

Replaced by something worse.

Grief.

Not one dead woman.

A graveyard.

And August remembers loving every grave.

“What about me?” I barely get the words out.

He looks at me. “Sarah?”

“Yes.”

My chest hurts. “If I’m not her...”

His face folds. “I know.”

“If everything inside me telling me I love you is something implanted...”

“It’s not.”

“You can’t know that.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “But neither can you.”

I look away. “Maybe I only want you because it’s making me.”

“Maybe.”

That hurts.

He doesn’t lie.