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“Yes.”
I hated the relief I felt on behalf of absolutely fucking nobody. I looked toward my car again because nothing changed the fact that he was married. A sad marriage was still a marriage. Separate bedrooms were still inside the same house. A future separation wasn’t a present divorce. And Ravenna’s grief did not make her invisible.
“I feel bad for her,” I admitted.
Caleb’s expression changed. “Don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t pity her.”
The answer surprised me.
“I didn’t say pity.”
“I know what you meant.”
“No, you don’t.”
He sighed. “She’s not weak, Blair.”
I stared at him. “She’s struggling. There’s a difference.”
The worst part was my respect for him. Even while explaining why he was supposedly leaving his wife, he wasn’t calling her pathetic. He wasn’t insulting her and he wasn’t making her ugly so I could feel prettier.
Years later, I’d understand that a man didn’t have to call a woman crazy to convince you she was unstable. He could speak softly, use clinical words, call it concern, compassion, and fear. He could make control sound exactly like care if he chose the right vocabulary. I didn’t know any of that at the time.
All I knew was that the married man standing in front of me didn’t sound like the married men I’d promised myself I’d never entertain.
I adjusted my purse. “I still can’t do this.”
Caleb nodded. “I understand.”
“Whatever is happening in your marriage needs to finish before you start something else.”
“I know.”
“And not emotionally finished. Not we sleep in separate rooms. Not she knows where I stand.”
He nodded.
“Divorced… Legally. Officially. Divorced.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Okay.”
“And until then, I’m not interested.”
“Okay.”
Something about how easily he accepted it did nothing to me.
I turned and walked toward my car.
“Blair.”
I stopped but didn’t turn around.
“I’m sorry.”
