It’s just one night. That’s what I told myself when James showed up on my porch, soaked from the rain, suitcase in hand, no place to go.
Our divorce was final five years ago. But that voice—the one he used to use when I was the only one who believed in him—it still gets to me. “Just until I figure things out,” he said. So I made up the couch, boiled water for tea, and told no one.
