Finally, Sloane stepped aside.
Ryan entered.
The conversation lasted almost two hours. When he returned, his eyes were red. I didn’t ask anything right away. We drove for almost ten minutes before he finally spoke.
I nodded.
“AND?”
Ryan stared out the window. Then he chuckled softly, a sound more of relief than humor.
“She forgave me.”
The words were left in the car. For some reason, they moved me.
Perhaps because forgiveness is rarer than people think.
Perhaps because I spent twelve years believing that the tattoo represented love, when at all times it represented regret.
