“Jesus. None of that was your fault.”

She swipes at her tears. “Rich was different too. It wasn’t uncommon for me to find myself hanging out with Heath and his friends, but any time Rich caught me alone, he’d whisper suggestive things in my ear. He’d say he could tell what I was thinking and knew I wanted him. When I told him I didn’t, he’d laugh and remind me that he’d gotten me off, that he’d been inside me. It kind of fucks with your head when someone tells you with such confidence that they know you better than you know yourself. He’d touched me, and I’d let him.

“Heath was struggling with what we’d done—what he’d asked me to do. Heath was struggling, but Rich . . . Rich was obsessed. He’d text me dirty pictures of couples and little snippets of his memories from that night. I was so afraid Heath would see and be jealous that I’d delete the messages, but Heath saw one come through. The day he died, before he left for work, he saw a dirty message Rich sent, and he went off the handle. Told me that if I wanted to be with Rich, to fucking leave and do it.” She draws in a ragged breath. “That was the last conversation we had, and the next thing I knew, I was burying him. Sometimes I think I only slept with Rich after the funeral to punish myself. Or maybe even to punish Heath for putting me through all of it.”

I stand and cross the room, but she keeps her gaze on the back of the chair until I touch her arm. “It wasn’t your fault.”

When she lifts her face, the tears I see streaming down her cheeks break my heart. “For years, I hated myself. It’s not like Rich raped me or Heath forced me. I let it happen. I let Rich touch me while Heath watched. I didn’t stop it. And I never told anyone because I felt so dirty. Not dirty because of what we did—I don’t have any issue with people who want to watch their partners or who want to share. It works for some. But for me, the ugliness I associate with the memory wasn’t about what we did or even about how Heath responded. I felt dirty because I’d let them make a decision that should’ve been mine.”

I cup her face in my hands and wipe away her tears with my thumbs. “I’m sorry you were cornered into it.”

She looks into my eyes for a long time, as if she’s looking for answers, before asking, “Do you remember what you said last night?”

I shake my head. We both said a lot last night. Maybe too much. “What?”

“You said that if a woman doesn’t say yes, you take it as a no. I’ve spent years blaming myself for not saying no. I still have to own that. I should have said no. I needed to use my voice, but maybe Heath should’ve had more respect for the fact that I never said yes.”