“There’s something else.” I sigh. “There’s this guy—my ex—Jake.” An involuntary warmth spreads through my body. “Before I lost my sight, we were very seriously involved.” I swallow. “Long story short, he was a cop. He got transferred to another city, and I didn’t want to move, so we broke up.”

“And?”

I absorb her shape, the pieces of her coming through like an abstract painting. “Well, he’s back in Chicago. He reached out to me on Facebook.”

“Did you respond?”

“I did. And now I feel guilty.”

“Why?” There’s a rustling of fabric, and I imagine her crossing and uncrossing her legs.

“Because I just lost my husband. It’s too soon to even think about anyone else, isn’t it?”

“Do you think it’s too soon?”

“I don’t know.” I work something out in my head, maybe for the first time. “I honestly think I fell for Chris because he was so unlike Jake—or anyone I’d dated, for that matter. I was scared of being alone. I needed stability, certainty, someone who could handle my diagnosis. Chris wasn’t scared by what was happening to me.”

“Do you think Jake would have been scared?”

I shake my head. “Probably not.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Sad that I didn’t give him a chance or reach out when I was diagnosed.” The words slip out before I can rein them in.

“Have you talked to him since you broke up?”

“No. Once he moves on, he moves on, but I don’t know … I miss him. I want to know how he’s doing, how his life has turned out. On the way here, he sent me a direct message and I answered him.” I shift uncomfortably. “We’re meeting for coffee right after this.”

“How are you feeling about that?”

I hesitate. “Excited … like a part of me that’s been buried is about to come alive again.”

“Because you feel like Jake knows you?”

I nod. “For so many years, I’ve only been ‘Rebecca-who’s-losing-her-sight’ and Chris was the guy who loved me anyway. But Jake knows a different version.”

“The sighted version?”

I nod. “I know I was only twenty-six, but I feel like a part of me died when he left. As dramatic as that sounds, considering everything that’s actually happened.”

“That doesn’t sound dramatic at all. That sounds honest.” Dr. Gibbons leans forward. “Here’s what I think. Have the coffee. See how you feel.”

“But isn’t that dangerous? To project all that grief or loss on an ex-boyfriend?”

“Are you projecting? Or are you simply reconnecting with someone you once loved?”

Love. I fold my hands on my lap. “Then why does it feel like a betrayal?”