“I guess she’s … forgiven me?” he murmured, tentatively reaching out to stroke her.

“That’s the seal of approval,” I agreed. “And … you’ve got my forgiveness. If you can forgive me, too.”

He frowned at me. “What do I need to forgive you for?”

I shrugged. “Oh, you know, getting all passive-aggressive in every conversation we had, rather than just being honest with you, and … for not telling you about Chad and what happened with uni. Maybe if I’d addressed it properly when it happened, I wouldn’t have had to spend the last seven years feeling like I was just treading water.”

I took a deep breath. “I got a letter from the professor who expelled me today. He … acknowledged that he’d made a mistake, and he offered me a position in his first-semester class next year. All my previous credits are being honoured, so … I can finish my degree after all.”

I hadn’t realised until I said those words that I’d decided. I was going to finish that final credit. I was going to get my bachelor’s degree. And I was going to keep studying until I could call myself a qualified art therapist, and not just a volunteer one.

Joe blinked at me, his arm around me going tense. “So, did the professor know all along that he’d expelled the wrong student?”

I shrugged. “No idea. All he said is that there had been a misjudgement on his end, and he wanted to make amends.” I tried to close my mouth, but the rest of the story was clamouring to get out. My teeth throbbed as if the words were banging on the backs of them. And there was no keeping them in.

“I think SJ had something to do with it. I told him, that day at brunch, what had happened. I think he went to the uni and confronted the professor.”

Joe’s eyes widened. “Well. That’s … it’s quite a gesture, isn’t it?”

I really shouldn’t have said anything, because I’d just stopped crying over Joe, and now my tears were welling for the umpteenth time for SJ.

“It’s a … a grand gesture,” I blubbered, and Joe cupped the back of my head and held me as I sobbed. “It’s more than grand. It’s … inconceivable.”

It’s so romantic, that cheeky, sappy part of my brain that would be more than happy to ignore reality informed me.

“He must really care about you,” Joe remarked, his voice thick.

“I …” How to explain … without collapsing in a blubbering heap again … and without revealing SJ’s secret identity? I gnawed on a fingernail.

“He does care about you, doesn’t he?” Joe pressed.

Luci saved me from having to answer. She startled out of her sleep, leaping from Joe’s lap and dooking madly, racing around the living room.