Somehow I knew before I even got there.

And I turned around.

God help me, I turned around and I drove home.”

“Why did you never tell me?” I was crying now too, the two of us standing in his doorway.

“Six years, Zachary.

Why did you keep this from me for six years?”

“What would it have changed?” he said, and the question came out of him broken.

“What good would it have done you to know that I was supposed to be there?