I do.

But sorry isn’t the currency here.

The currency is: I need to know that if something like this ever happens again — some fear, some ugly coincidence, some voice in your head telling you the worst about the people you love — I need to know you’ll come to me before you come to a conclusion.

And you can’t promise me that with words.

Nobody can.

You can only show it to me over years, in a hundred small moments, and I don’t know yet whether you’re a man who can do that, because for nine years you were a man who couldn’t.” He was quiet.