We met when I was eighteen. I chased after him relentlessly, and he barely gave me the time of day.
At twenty-three, I moved to City A for school, and he pretended not to know me.
Then an accident happened, and he insisted on taking responsibility for me.
It was only responsibility. I hadn’t thought much of it, either.
I left to pursue my dreams, thinking we’d have nothing to do with each other after that.
But then I saw him again.
Oh my god, he was holding me and crying, begging me not to leave him!
Weren’t we just married without being in love?
At thirty-two, he was crying like a little kid.
So he’d been secretly in love with me all along!
Why didn’t he say so sooner?
