I heard my own earlier logic reflected back at me and hated it.
"I panicked," I said.
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"Did you not want counseling?"
"I did."
"Then why cancel?"
I could not say:
Because I was afraid the therapist would agree with you.
So I attacked.
"Maybe because you've already decided I'm guilty."
Simon closed his eyes.
When he opened them, something had changed.
Not rage.
Hope.
Specifically, less of it.
The following Saturday he picked up June for a father-daughter day.
I asked if I could join them.
"I think she needs some time with me."
"So now I'm excluded?"
"That's not what I said."
"It feels like it."
"Everything isn't about punishing you."
"What are you telling her?"
"That we both love her."
"That adults are working through problems."
"That she isn't responsible."
I crossed my arms.
"What else?"
"Nothing she doesn't need to know."
"Are you preparing her for divorce?"
Simon looked at me.
"I'm preparing myself for every possibility."
That scared me more than any shouting could have.
They left.
I spent the afternoon scrolling through social media and discovering that public sympathy had changed.
My original Facebook post had fewer supportive comments than I remembered.
Some people had quietly deleted theirs.
A friend named Naomi, who had initially written, You only live once, had removed it completely.
Jessica had stopped messaging every hour.
Then Liam texted.
Can we talk?
My heart jumped in a way that made me ashamed.
I responded:
About what?
He called.
I almost did not answer.
Then I did.
"Evanthy."
"Hi."
He sounded uncomfortable.
"I need to tell you something."
"Okay."
"I apologized to Simon."
I stood.
"What?"
"I called him."
"Why?"
"Because I was wrong."
I felt betrayed.
"You were part of the dare too."
"I know."
"Everyone was."
"I know."
"Then why are you acting like we committed some crime?"
"We didn't commit a crime."
His voice was tired.
"But he told us both he wasn't okay with it."
"And we did it anyway."
"It was a game."
"Evanthy."
"I've been telling myself that all week."
"It doesn't make me feel better."
I paced through the living room.
"So you're blaming me."
"No."
"I'm taking responsibility for me."
"I should have said no."
"He's my best friend."
"You were drinking."
"So was I."
"That doesn't make it better."
The conversation infuriated me because Liam was ruining one of my strongest defenses.
If even the man I had kissed believed it was wrong, who remained to confirm my version?
"You liked it too," I said.
A long pause.
"Yeah."