"Explain what?" My voice was steady. So steady it surprised even me. "Explain how you've been playing boyfriend to another woman?"
"She just went through a breakup. She's emotionally fragile. I was just looking out for her—"
"She goes through a breakup, and you're her shoulder to cry on. I'm burning up with a fever, and where are you?"
He froze.
"That night, I had a hundred-and-two-degree fever. You were with her until one in the morning."
His mouth opened. Nothing came out.
I tossed the phone onto the bed, walked into the guest room, and locked the door.
He didn't sleep that night. He stood outside the door, knocking every few minutes. I didn't open it.
The next morning, when I finally unlocked the door, he was still there. Red-eyed, standing in the same spot. "I was wrong. I was really wrong. I've cut her off. Deleted her from my phone. I'll never contact her again. Please forgive me this once."
I looked at him and thought of the boy who'd chased me for a year. The way his voice had trembled so badly during the proposal he could barely get the words out.
"One last chance," I said.
I forgave him because of those five years.
Not because he deserved it. Because I couldn't bear to let go.