It hurt to hear. But I believed him. And somehow, that hurt less than a lie would have.
“Thank you for being honest,” I said.
“It’s the only thing I’ve got left to give you,” he said. “So I’m trying to give you all of it.”
We sat for a while, watching our breath turn to fog in the cold air.
“My therapist asked me something last week,” he said. “She asked me what I was most afraid of, when I was nineteen. And I said I was afraid of being broken. And she said, no, go deeper. And I sat there for a long time, and I finally said I was afraid that if anyone ever saw the broken part, they’d leave. Like my dad left.” He looked at his hands. “And then I did it. To you. To her. I became exactly the person I was afraid of. I saw something I couldn’t handle and I packed the suitcase. I put your clothes on the lawn. I’m my father, Claire. That’s what I’ve had to face.”
