[Tabitha’s POV]
I pull the blanket that is draped around me tighter as Atticus and Anthony watch me, waiting for me to begin to speak. After getting sick in Atticus’ car, I was brought back to his home, where I could shower and change, then make myself comfortable in his large living room with pristine white furniture and no true signs that someone actually lived here. Both men waited for me to tell my story, and although Anthony already knew it, he too looked expectant.
“If you don’t want to tell, I can,” he offers after a long period of silence. “I know that it may be hard.”
“It’s okay,” I assure him, feeling that familiar tug of pain I felt when I saw him since his infidelity. “I’m an adult and capable of telling my own story.”
I was. It was just that I hadn’t spoken of it since bei
