She took my hand.
“You can care about why somebody became who they are,” I said, “without making it your responsibility to change them.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I really loved him.”
“I know.”
“What if part of me still does?”
“Then part of you still does.”
She gave a shaky laugh.
“That’s not very helpful.”
“It’s honest.”
She squeezed my hand.
“You can love somebody and still decide they shouldn’t have access to your life.”
She was quiet for a long time.
Then she nodded.
Her laptop chimed.
An email had arrived.
No sender name.
Just an address neither of us recognized.
The subject line contained five words.
You should see the original.
Marcy looked at me.
“Original what?”
She opened it.
There was one attachment.
A scanned contract.
Twelve pages.
At first, neither of us understood.
Then Marcy reached page eight.
Her hand stopped on the mouse.
