Pale.
Sick.
Not the bride.
Not the girl in satin.
The version he had run from.
I pulled the blanket tighter.
He whispered, “Emily.”
I said, “Now you can leave again accurately.”
His face crumpled.
“I deserved that.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“I wrote you a letter.”
“I didn’t read it.”
He swallowed.
“I needed you to know I’m in therapy.”
“Good.”
“And I know I hurt you.”
“Yes.”
“And I know I don’t deserve another chance.”
“You’re right.”
Owen looked at me, silent.
Caleb took a breath.
“I’m not asking for one.”
That surprised me.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small envelope.
My father moved forward like he might tackle him.
Caleb quickly held it out.
“It’s the refund from the honeymoon.”
I stared.
“What?”
“I canceled it after I left. I kept the refund. I told myself I’d give it back when things calmed down.”
My mother made a sound of disgust.
Caleb’s face reddened.
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