“I lost it,” he says, “and I ruined the best thing that ever happened to me.” God, I hate apologies. He knows that. Why can’t we just admit that it’s all fucked up and move forward without talking about it? “I hurt you because I wasn’t mature enough to deal with you making a decision.”

What is he, a therapist? “You shouldn’t have had to be mature. We’re kids.”

“Don’t change the subject,” he says. I wince because he’s right. “I’m serious. I messed up. I’m glad you’re back, and I’m sorry.”

There it is. The I’m sorry. I never know what to say back. If he knows what he did wrong, he doesn’t have to say so. He just has to stop doing it and tell me he learned that way.

But I should be demanding that he apologize, over and over, until it’s the only thing he can say.

I can’t help myself. I want him to know.

“I thought you were going to break my wrist,” I say. “Or my arm. Or something.”

He looks away.

I say, “I was scared of you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Please stop apologizing.” I want to hear him say it over and over. I want to sew his lips shut. “Please.”

“If it makes it even”—which is a terrible way to start a sentence—”I’m scared of you now.”

“That’s not difficult. A lot of people are scared of me.”

“Well.” He stares up at the ceiling. When I follow his gaze, I find little paper angels hanging from the tiles with string. They’re angels the way I haven’t seen them since I was so much younger: chubby cheeks, halos, holding crayon-pink hearts. Still, though, their heaven-white robes and feathered wings put me on edge. “I guess scared isn’t the right word. Fear is probably better. Fear God and keep His commandments”—I blink in surprise to hear Ecclesiastes coming from Theo of all people, he was always bad at recitation—”for this is the whole duty of man.”

Theo’s eyes fall to me. His smile shines in the crinkle of skin at his cheeks, in the light in his gaze.

“The duty I accepted when I agreed to marry you,” he says, “is to fear you and keep you. I should have remembered that. I won’t forget again. So if the Angels hurt you, then I’ll fulfill my promise here.”

Our faces are so close, his body is so warm, and I missed him so much. I missed him. I missed him. No matter what he did. I am disgusted with myself.

I believe him.

“I’m not contagious,” I say and take down my mask.

I pull down his too, and I kiss him.