“You should have known,” she says one day, tears in her eyes.
You stop walking.
“Yes.”
Her face crumples.
“You’re a domestic violence attorney.”
“Yes.”
“How did you not see me?”
That one enters cleanly.
No defense.
No excuses.
No “you hid it well,” though she did.
You breathe through the pain.
“Because I wanted you to be happy so badly that I mistook your silence for privacy.”
She cries.
You cry too.
“I’m sorry,” you say. “I am so sorry.”
She lets you hug her.
Not because apology fixes the past.
Because truth gives grief somewhere to stand.
