Margaret Doyle — The House They Thought Was Theirs
“You could have come here months ago,” she said while making tea.
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
I had a hundred answers: uncertainty, habit, the fear of disrupting her marriage, the shame of admitting I had stayed so long.
None seemed satisfactory.
“I was waiting until I believed I deserved a different life,” I said.
Paige sat across from me.
“You always did.”