The following Monday, I waited in a small café, the same one from the photos, for Anna. She arrived, her expression a mix of guilt and defiance. « I guess you know, » she said, sliding into the seat opposite me. « I do, » I replied, keeping my tone even. There was a moment’s pause, filled with the ambient noise of clinking cups and muted conversations around us. « Why? » I asked, not expecting a satisfying answer, seeking more to understand the person she had become to betray me so intimately.
Her explanation was a tangled web of excuses, none of which absolved her. She spoke of loneliness, of feeling sidelined, of an unexpected connection with Ben. But none of it justified the betrayal. We parted without resolution, only an acknowledgment of broken trust.
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