“Yes, well,” he said, sounding mildly cynical, “most things in life are.” He sighed loudly. “I’m not nearly as angry as I used to be, Amala. I too had come to terms with our not ending up together . . . until Kat said what she did. And after she died, I think it just all came rushing back and it was too much. I think I’m more afraid than angry; it’s just easier to be angry than it is to think about the things I’m afraid of.”

An idea occurred to Amala, and she spoke it before she had time to consider it too deeply. “Are you afraid of thinking about them, or of admitting them to me?”

He turned his head abruptly to the side as if the question had jolted him, and she had a perfect view of his profile against the light coming through the window. She knew she’d hit on something sensitive, but he turned to look outside again without commenting.

Amala reminded herself that there was something else she needed to say and that her goal in speaking with him had not been to try to resolve things that would need a great deal of time and consideration. She just had to clarify where she stood and hopefully bridge the gap between them, even a little.

Setting aside her own reaction to his description of how much she’d hurt him, she hurried to get this over with. “There’s something else I need to say, but it’s difficult. I realize, however, that the trust between us is fragile, and trust cannot be rebuilt without some risk. I know I’m the one responsible for everything falling apart between us, and I know I didn’t handle it well; therefore, I feel it’s my responsibility to clarify something.”

She paused to fill her lungs with air and consider her words. “I’m listening,” he said, his back still turned toward her, and she continued.

“I’m afraid too, Henry. I’m afraid to admit this aloud because I’ve barely been able to admit it to myself. And I want you to know—without any doubt—that I never would have even allowed myself to think about it if Kat had lived. But now that we’re here . . . like this . . . I need to tell you that . . . I’m not certain I did the right thing.” She paused, waiting for a reaction, but he didn’t move or make a sound. “I know my concerns were real, and valid, and they still are. But perhaps I was too . . . naive . . . or too ruled by fear . . . to make the right decision for the right reason.”