For the third time in a day, I was suffering from information overload. There was no way he was capable of killing anyone. There was no way I would ever believe that he was. The shame plastered on his face told me he honestly thought it was true. He couldn’t even look at me. I let the information sit between us like a lead weight. I needed to process everything. I needed to take it one step at a time. I wanted the information he had shared to have changed things, but it hadn’t. I couldn’t trust him not to hide things from me.
He left me in pain, instead of just telling me the whole thing was a sham and I couldn’t forget the pain that had caused me. It wasn’t a case of not loving him or me not wanting him, but I couldn’t depend on him in that way, and I knew that. It was mid-afternoon, and
