45

I looked down at the table, faking interest in the lines and knots of the varnished wood.

“Rosie, you need to tell me. I might be able to fix it.”

I wish he could fix it. But, how could he? It was impossible.

Without warning, tears seeped out. “You can’t fix it,” I said, my voice cracking. “What’s done is done.”

I pressed my fingers against my eyes, rubbing the tears away.

I heard him take a deep breath. I understood that the patience he was showing me must feel unnatural. He was used to getting his way, almost immediately.

“Have you told anyone else?”

I shook my head.

“Not even that friend you’ve mentioned? Or…,” he cleared his throat. “Matt?”

The mention of his name out loud was my undoing. I began to sob. “No,” I snapped. “It was him who did this to me!” I clapped my hand over my mouth, but the dama