"You're right."
Again.
No defense.
No argument.
He handed me a card with his address and phone number.
"If you never contact me, I will understand."
I took it.
Not as a promise.
Not even as hope.
Just a choice I could make later.
Then I boarded my flight home.
For three months, I did not contact him.
I told Rebecca everything.
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Not immediately.
First, I told her about Malta.
The food.
The water.
The terrible map.
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