Jonah turned away from the wall.
I stared at the image until my eyes burned.
Randall had planned a world in which we might both die believing the other had abandoned us.
Recorded Wade said, “You’re talking like this is noble. It isn’t.”
“I know.”
“You’re not saving her from grief. You’re choosing which grief she gets.”
“I know.”
“You might die without seeing her again.”
Randall’s mouth trembled. “I know.”
“And she might never forgive you.”
“I’m counting on it.”
There it was.
Not love as I had once understood it. Not the warm domestic thing of coffee poured before I asked, the back of his hand brushing mine in the grocery aisle, his habit of warming my side of the bed with his feet when mine were cold. This was love turned into a weapon and pointed at both of us.
Onscreen Randall reached for the camera. “If she hates me, she won’t come.”
