“Every year it got harder to tell you,” he whispered. “I hated myself. But I couldn’t risk losing you.”
I turned to my mother, voice shaking.
“How do you know this?”
She exhaled.
“I ran into Jenna,” she said. “She looked awful. She told me she thinks God is punishing her.”
My mom’s voice cracked.
“So I asked… punishing her for what.”
Then she looked at my husband with something like disgust.
“And she told me.”
Of course Jenna confessed.
Of course my mother hunted proof.
I felt like the floor tilted under me.
My husband reached for me.
I stepped back.
My voice came out calm in a way that terrified even me.
“I need you to leave.”
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