“You made me feel like a failure twice over, for not proving myself to the doubters and not believing in myself enough to have convinced them.”

“That was never what I meant.”

Phoebe stood up. She walked over to the window and planted herself there. The chaparral must have smelled like tar when it rained. Did Ted ever notice that? How could he, when the windows didn’t even open?

“You’ve always lived in a fantasy world,” she said.

“Tell me who didn’t know that you were the heart and soul of this organization? You think it was easy when you left?”

Phoebe swung around. Her neck was on fire. Ted was standing now, too.

“Easy? You think what I went through was easy?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“If it was so easy, how come you went to Budapest?”

“I was coming back at the end of the month. You were supposed to wait.”

“Wait? For what? For you to run off in the night again, like—”

“I had to go!” His face was flushed now, too.

“The AD had it under control. You left because you wanted to.”

In a basket on the corner of his desk, she saw a postcard addressed with a child’s large script. Hi Mommy and Daddy. He’d moved on so completely. After Phoebe left LA, Ted never came to Santa Clara to plead his case. It was over for her, but she’d expected him to come to his senses, to at least try to hold on to her. Instead, when her lawyer sent his lawyer the divorce papers, Ted signed them.

“You never believed me,” Phoebe said quietly.

“I never said that.”

“No, but you had a lot of questions. If I led him on. If I just misunderstood. You looked at my dress like it was a weapon of mass destruction.”

“I was upset. I didn’t know what I was saying.”

“It was the dress I bought for graduation. The one I wore when our parents met and didn’t hate each other. I thought it was my good luck dress.”

“What do you want me to do? I said I was sorry.”

“You didn’t actually. You never said that.”

Ted stood still in stunned disbelief. He wiped his hand over his open mouth. “I am sorry. I hate that he hurt you.”

He was finally saying the words. It almost mattered. Something was happening behind Phoebe’s eyes and she knew that if she wasn’t careful, she would cry.

“He did it to get back at you,” she said.

“What?”

“Because you wouldn’t go to Silvertown. He wanted to punish you. He knew I would tell you what he did. He wanted you to know. Even then, it was never about me.”

Dammit. Phoebe turned and looked up at the sun, hoping it would cauterize her tears. She sniffed and cleared her throat.