Page 166 of Lorenzo

“It didn't,” I say. “I finished school, got into a good college, and never looked back.”

“That was not peace,” he says quietly.

“No,” I admit. “It was leaving before anyone could send me away again.”

“And then you continued that pattern into the FBI,” he says.

This time, anger surges up into me, but before I can blast it at him, he holds his palms out in surrender.

“I understand that situation was different. You had to get out before they could send you away,” he says. “But I don't think it helped, being back in a similar situation.”

My anger trips and stalls.

He is right, and I resent him for seeing it.

“They were going to take everything from me,” I say.

“I know.”

“So I left first.”

“Yes.”

The quiet agreement takes some of the fight out of me.

I look down at my hands.

“I thought getting out before they could ruin me meant I had won.”

“Maybe it did,” he says. “But winning does not mean it did not hurt you.”

I stare at him.

“I survived it.”

“You did.”

“I built something better.”

“You did that too.”

His agreement leaves me with nowhere to direct the anger.

I look down at my plate again. “Then what do you want from me?”

“Nothing.” His voice is quieter now. “I want you to stop treating what happened to you as proof that leaving is always safer than staying.”

My chest twists.

His gaze holds mine across the table.

“Because one day,” he says, “you might be tempted to leave someone who would never send you away.”

Chapter Twenty One

Lorenzo

The quarterly operations meeting has been underway for twenty-three minutes, and I have heard perhaps half of it.