But that is how a tragedy like ours or King Lear breaks your heart—by making you believe that the ending might still be happy, until the very last minute.

“were you in love with him?” “yes,” i say, simply. james and i put each other through the kind of reckless passions gwendolyn once talked about, joy and anger and desire and despair. after all that, was it really so strange? i am no longer baffled or amazed or embarrassed by it. “yes, i was.” it’s not the whole truth. the whole truth is, i’m in love with him still.