I heard Andrew’s footsteps echoing down the hall. I scrambled off the floor and back onto the couch, while trying to wipe my cheeks and eyes. I knew that my mascara had run, but I hoped that he would figure that it was from the rain.
“One nice, warm towel, fresh out of the dryer,” Andrew announced as he entered the sitting room.
I received the towel with a gracious smile.
“Thank you,” I said, though my voice sounded small.
I started drying my hair, praying that Andrew hadn’t noticed the change in my voice. Of course, I wasn’t that lucky.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No, not at all. Why?”
“You seem different than when I left. Have you been crying?”
I focused on rubbing my hair with the towel so that I wouldn’t have to look Andrew in the eye. I wished that I had asked for a brush
