“Confession . . .” Myla taps her chin. “It was me who was tilting the pictures.”

I feign shock. “No, that was you?”

She chuckles. “Guilty.”

“I had no idea. Wow, color me stunned,” I say as I move my hands to her side and up her ribs.

“It’s shocking, I know, you might have to settle yourself before your confession.”

Funny thing is, I could either match the ridiculousness of her confession, keep it light after such a heavy moment, or I can bring it right back to being serious and confess something that has been sitting heavy on my chest.

My hands grip her tightly, my thumbs bobbing close to the sides of her breasts. I’m not sure I’ll have another chance to say what I need to say. I have to say it. I have to get this off my chest.

“Myla?”

“Yes?” she says.

“My confession . . . well, it’s not so funny and more God’s honest truth.”

“Okay,” she says, sounding skeptical.

“I will live with two regrets for the rest of my life. One being that even though you were trying to talk to me, trying to tell me that I was hurting you, I didn’t listen. I realize the damage it has done. I’m sorry. And my second regret is signing those divorce papers because, even though you deserved to be let go to live your life your way after the way I treated you, the love I have for you will never fade. And losing you will always be my biggest mistake. Not sure I’ll ever forgive myself.”

“Oh,” she says as silence falls between us.

“Yeah . . . oh,” I repeat right before dipping my head back to the edge of the pool.

* * *

MYLA

“Did you hear anything from the doctors?” I ask Nichole as I pace the end of the hallway of the floor our room is on.

“That’s really the first thing you’re going to say to me when I answer the phone?”

“Yes, I want to make sure you’re keeping me up to date.”

“Trust me, you’ll be my first call, so stop asking. Unless I tell you something, there is no news.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

“Now, what’s the real reason you’re calling? Wait, let me guess. You’re freaking out because Ryot did something today that made you think, maybe, just maybe, you did the wrong thing by asking him for a divorce?”

I’m silent because . . . well, because she’s slightly right.

“Tell me I’m not telling the truth.”

“It was just a tough day today, well, tough morning. The day isn’t even over. I have dinner with him shortly, and I’m just feeling weird, okay? I need to talk it out.”

“Tell me what happened.”

I explain the class to her, how we both didn’t know what to expect, but when the moment came down to it, I thought that maybe it would be nice to see what he had to say about me.