"I'm sorry, Rosanna. I'm so sorry. You deserved honesty from the beginning. You deserved a husband who could trust you instead of testing you."
My voice drops to almost a whisper. "You deserved someone better than I knew how to be."
"Seamus…" She wipes at her face. "I wasn't exactly fearless either."
I want desperately to comfort her, but I don't know if I have the right to touch her.
I sink back into the chair, exhausted by the weight of my own confession.
I look at her and don’t look away.
"Can you ever forgive me?" The question comes out broken. "Can you ever trust me again?”
The question hangs between us, and I realize I'm holding my breath. Waiting for her to tell me this is unforgivable, that damage this deep can't be repaired, that I had my chance and I destroyed it through my own fear and need for control.
Or waiting for her to tell me that maybe broken things can be mended if both people are willing to do the hard work of healing.
I don't know which answer she'll give. But I'm finally brave enough to ask the question and accept whatever truth comes back.
Chapter forty-one
Rosanna
I'd been terrified that his silence about being Shay was calculated manipulation—that every moment between us had been strategy rather than genuine connection.
But that's not what happened. He figured it out after we were already married, already starting to build something real. And instead of being honest, he reverted to the damage he's been carrying for years.
It doesn’t make it okay.
But it makes it human.
"I hoped that's what it was," I say, and my voice is thick with tears. "I hoped you just couldn't find the right way to tell me. That you were scared rather than scheming."
Seamus looks up at me, and his expression is so raw it makes my chest ache. "I wasn't. I swear, Rosanna, I wasn't manipulating you."
"I know. I can see it now."
I stand up and begin to pace, trying to organize my thoughts into something coherent.
"The lie hurt," I tell him. "Because it made me feel lost. Like I couldn't trust my own judgment about you. Like everything I thought we were building was just my naive interpretation of your calculated moves."
"It wasn't—" he starts, but I keep talking.
"It hurt because it meant you didn't trust me. That even as we were falling in love—or I was falling in love—you were still only half in."
I turn to face him fully.
Seamus is on his feet now, and he looks like he wants to reach for me but doesn't know if he's allowed.
"But you're telling me—it was real? What we were building? The feelings and the kisses—"
"Every single one."
I pull out my sketchbook. "Then I have something for you."
His hands shake as he opens it.
The boy with curls.
