The slam of the door echoed his retreat, a final, satisfying punctuation to my sentence. No. I won’t forgive you. The words hung in the air, solid and real. My body still hummed from his kiss, a traitorous reaction I despised. My lips still tingled. My heart still raced. But the deep, frozen pit in my stomach, the one carved out by his betrayal and the void where my child should be, refused to be warmed by his sudden, passionate remorse.

I fell onto the massive bed, the silken sheets feeling ...