Ch. 7: The Photograph

There were things Nina had learned never to say aloud, and most of them were about she.

"You shouldn't have come," she said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to. She remembered the first time, and the last, and all the ordinary days in between that had somehow mattered more. Money could buy a great many things, she had learned, but never the one thing that was wanted most.

Money could buy a great many things, she had learned, but never the one thing that was wanted most. She remembered the first time, and the last, and all the ordinary days in between that had somehow mattered more.

Nina crossed the room slowly, aware of every step, of the way she was watching without seeming to. She remembered the first time, and the last, and all the ordinary days in between that had somehow mattered more.

The conversation turned, the way conversations do, from the easy things to the ones that mattered. There was a history between them that neither would name, written in the things they did not do.

Every choice had a price. Nina had known that for years, and still the knowing never made it easier.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me," Nina said. "I'm asking you to listen." "I'm not asking you to forgive me," Nina said. "I'm asking you to listen." Nina crossed the room slowly, aware of every step, of the way she was watching without seeming to.

She remembered the first time, and the last, and all the ordinary days in between that had somehow mattered more. She remembered the first time, and the last, and all the ordinary days in between that had somehow mattered more.

The door closed softly, but the sound of it stayed with her for a long time.