Date: Friday, July 12th, 2013
Time: 8:17 pm
Location: Beckett Memorial Arts Building, Ivy University, Los Tokyo
After that argument on Saturday, things have still been a little tense, even though we've technically apologized and made up again since our drive home from the beach. We even skipped the visit with his mom on Sunday, Diego telling her on the phone that we were both so exhausted after a long week at work and a big trip to see Maya the day before. Not inaccurate, but also not really the reason either.
Diego says he's made his peace about the whole thing, but he keeps being weird about it. On Monday, he told me that I was chewing too loudly on my carrot sticks at lunchtime. Wednesday, when I made the coffee in the morning, he said that it was mediocre because "kitten, you accidentally burnt it a little." On the drive home from work yesterday, he told me that he hated the song playing on the radio, one I had played on repeat at his apartment a couple of weeks earlier.
I asked him to cut it out. He knew what it felt like to be questioned under the influence of the magatama so he shouldn't be acting so paranoid.
He said that he was just nipping any problems in the bud before they turned into ammunition. If he was always brutally honest, I'd never have anything to question him about.
I told him that, if he just kept his mouth shut entirely, I wouldn't have any idea what to ask him about. He didn't appreciate that remark, but it kept him from criticizing me anymore in the name of honesty.
In the battle of "I love you," we were both winning or losing, depending on how you choose to look at it. He still wouldn't say it, knowing I would never say it first and I wouldn't say it knowing it was so conditional for him.
I didn't care what the magatama indicated. If he really felt that way, he wouldn't have dropped off because I was uneasy about it. If I really believed him, I would come around to saying it naturally. I think.
While I still basically lived at his place, he's been noticeably more distant. Most nights this week, he's been in the living room, I've been in the bedroom, and we've barely talked at all. I'd paint my nails, read, or surf around on my laptop and he would watch a game, TV, or a movie.
A couple of those times, I'd fallen asleep and woken up in the middle of the night to see he wasn't on his side of the bed. He had either fallen asleep on the couch or was still up, watching the TV, and unable to sleep at all.
All things considered, working together had been going well for the past five months, up until this week. However, just like we weren't good at hiding our affection while we were in a state of bliss, we were also unable to hide the tension when we were at odds with one another.
Despite this, we both had the wherewithal to save face for each other. Diego had a case on Wednesday and Thursday this week so, when he was out during lunch, Reina asked me if everything was okay. I told her we were both just tired.
Mr. Hammond, nosey as ever, noticed that I wasn't up in Diego's office as much this week. He asked Diego today, "Is there trouble in paradise?" As Diego recounted to me later, on the drive home, he told Mr. Hammond that if he paid attention to his work as much as he paid attention to us, maybe his win record would be just as good as Diego's. That jab was enough to make him walk away.
While I'd rather us not be fighting at all, it did make me relieved to know that we weren't the kind of couple to rant about the other person to anyone who would listen, the moment things got a little tough.
This evening, I just wanted to curl up into a ball and relax after a stressful week, but we told each other last Saturday that we would go to Ivy University tonight to begin investigating Dahlia and neither one of us wanted to break that promise. So, here we are now, meandering around the campus's language arts building, looking for clues.
We didn't exactly know what we were looking for. When we talked about it in the car last Saturday, it seemed straightforward. We would search the university and find traces of Dahlia's movements.
When we arrived at the vast campus and searched through the seven-story language arts building, we realized how foolish of an idea that was. We knew it would be like finding a needle in a haystack and yet, somehow, we had convinced ourselves that she would be so obvious, faltering like she had on the stand. That we would find something with little effort.
After peering into all the classrooms, every single one on all seven floors, most of them blending together with no distinguishable differences, and searching the third-floor student lounge, the location of the Literature Society's meetings, we came up basically empty-handed.
The only potential lead was an old flyer for a book club potluck event hosted a few months ago when the regular school year was still ongoing. I took a picture of the flyer, and said I would check social media later to see if I had any luck finding some photos or an event page about it. By the way that flyer was designed, it seemed like a regular event hosted by the society.
Diego checked his watch. "Do you know when the library closes in the summer?"
"9 pm, I think. That's when it was last summer."
It was crazy to think that it was already almost a year since I had graduated. The accelerated program was very intensive, but it still went by in a flash. It doesn't feel like that long ago when I was in one of the library's private study rooms, there from basically the time they opened to the time they closed, only getting up to go to the washroom, stretch my legs, or buy a snack from the vending machines. Yet so much has changed since then.
"We should probably go check it out while we're here," he said plainly. "Maybe they have yearbooks or something there."
I nodded and we wordlessly walked out to the hallway, down the stairs, and onto the quad, en route to the library. It was almost dark out and all the old-fashioned streetlamps had turned on. They were radiating with warm orange light.
I always liked walking through here in the evenings after the lights had turned on. It was one nice thing to look forward to after spending all day in the library or in lectures. Strolling down the cobblestone path, enjoying the cool breeze, smelling the lush grass and trees, and admiring the beautiful old ivy-covered buildings bathed in the glow of those lights.
If we had been in better spirits this week, this walk would have been romantic, regardless of the sinister reason we were here in the first place. We would have walked hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm, chatting blithely, and taking in the sights as we spoke.
Knowing him, he would have said something cheesy to me, I would have giggled at it despite myself, and we would have kissed somewhere along the way. Probably in the middle of the quad, at the crossroads, where all the pathways connected.
Instead, we both remained quiet, and he outpaced me slightly, being about a half step ahead of me the whole walk to the library, despite not being familiar with the campus.
When we reached the library, we were disappointed to find that our luck was more of the same. We passed by the stacks and the computer lab and made our way to the magazines and periodicals, reviewing the old copies of the alumni magazine.
I wasn't an alumnus until last fall, so we wanted to make sure that we hadn't missed anything from an old issue, when Dahlia was in her first year. We didn't find anything else in these issues nor the other ones I had back at my apartment.
We looked at the yearbooks from this year and last year and there was also nothing. Yearbooks at Ivy weren't viewed the same way as high school yearbooks, or so I've heard. The Kurain Village Schoolhouse was too small to need a yearbook, and I didn't buy an Ivy University yearbook when I graduated, so I've never had one.
Most of the pages in the 2012 and 2013 issues comprised of graduate portraits, a few photos from school events and varsity games during the year, and a bunch of ads from local businesses. Even though we didn't find anything, it was nice to confirm that I hadn't missed out by not purchasing one.
"You didn't get grad photos taken?" Diego asked disappointedly.
Since graduates of the accelerated law program were in session from September to September, my photos would have been included in the 2013 yearbook, if they had been taken.
"No point. I don't have parents anymore, so who was I going to give them to?"
"True. So, you're telling me that you don't have a framed grad portrait of yourself in your apartment?" he teased.
I scoffed. "Do you know me at all?" I replied, laughing.
"That's too bad. Would have loved to have a baby-faced picture of you to hang up on my wall."
I rolled my eyes. "That was only a year ago. I look basically the same now. I don't remember seeing your portrait back at your apartment," I teased back.
"It's at Mamá's place."
"Interesting," I said, elongating the word for effect. "I know what I'm doing on Sunday."
He smirked. "I regret telling you that."
I smiled. It wasn't a long interaction, but it made me happy to quip back and forth like we had before the fight. It felt like an eternity since we had last joked around like that even though it had only been a week.
He sighed and closed the yearbook before returning it to the shelf. "Well, this trip turned out to be a dead end."
"I know. No surprises there, I guess. If she is up to something, she's probably being sneaky about it."
"Want to head back?" he asked. I nodded.
We started walking out of the library, but I stopped him when we passed by the washroom. "I'm just going to go before we leave," I said.
He smiled. "We're not that far from home."
"I know, but I need to go now!" I retorted playfully.
"Women and their tiny bladders," he said, shaking his head.
I squinted and smirked at him before entering the women's washroom. I must have entered a portal to another dimension while I was in there because, when I came out, he was visibly rattled. "What's wrong?" I asked.
He shook his head, laughing with bewilderment. "You won't believe who I just saw."
I opened my mouth in surprise. "She was here?"
"Yup. She was here with some guy. He was carrying all her books for her. She called him 'Dougie,'" he said, mockingly emphasizing the name.
"Wow. Did she see you?"
"She looked right at me before they walked out. She seemed confused at first, but then I saw a look of recognition and she glared at me. She remembered me from the trial."
"What are the chances?"
"I know." He checked his watch. "This may sound crazy, but we have ten minutes before the library closes. I want to look at the yearbooks again and see if we can find this Dougie."
I nodded in agreement, and we sped-walked back to the shelf with the yearbooks. I looked at the 2012 edition and he looked at the 2013.
Luckily, Doug didn't seem to be a popular name, so it was easy to flip through. However, we still had to frantically scan through the books as security personnel had started walking the floors to clear out the building. I didn't even have a face to go on so just read for the name Doug and asked Diego about the handful of Dougs that I came across in my search.
"This is him!" he exclaimed with only three minutes to spare. Diego pointed to his picture.
I looked at the photo of Doug, running for the school's cross-country team. He was just a normal-looking guy. Makes sense; I don't know what else I was expecting.
Diego laughed. "What is it?" I asked.
"Look at his major," he instructed.
I found his major listed in the photo's description: Doug Swallow, 3rd-year pharmacology, with a second-place finish in the men's 8k. My eyes widened.
"Now, what would someone like Dahlia be doing with a pharmacology student?" he asked sarcastically.
"I can think of a reason."
Date: Tuesday, July 16th, 2013
Time: 8:55 am
Location: Diego's Office, Grossberg Law Offices, Los Tokyo
When we got back to the apartment later that Friday evening, things had become noticeably more relaxed again between us. It was hard to avoid each other when we were both engaged in the same task. Then too, it was exhilarating to finally discover a potential lead in Dahlia's case, and we were excited to go over the details and discuss the possibilities.
That weekend, we essentially called a truce, agreeing that it was stupid to give each other the silent treatment even if we never really resolved the conflict at hand and had made no plans to do so any time soon. Once we got a taste of being a normal happy couple again, it was too hard to go back to being withdrawn from one another.
I went on my social media accounts that Saturday morning to look and see if we could find anything about the book club poster or Doug Swallow. Diego jokingly gave me a hard time about having social media at all, and for willingly posting any of my personal information online. I didn't really use it that much and hadn't posted anything questionable, so I wasn't all that worried.
I made fun of him for being such an old man and pointed out that, without it, we would have had a harder time investigating our leads. He begrudgingly agreed.
On the surface, nothing particularly noteworthy came up when I looked up the Literature Society's book club page. There were photos and posts about past events but nothing of relevance to our case. However, a couple of photos from March's event provided some interesting insights.
Dahlia was seated on a couch in one of those photos, right next to Doug Swallow. He was laughing and holding the book club book from that month and Dahlia was smiling at him.
It's possible that he's been a member for a while and that they've been dating for longer than we thought, but we think it's more likely that they started dating sometime after the trial. We couldn't find him in any of the previous event photos while Dahlia was in a few.
When I looked Doug up, he unfortunately had too many privacy settings on his page for us to get much information and we both agreed that it wasn't wise to try to connect with him online. However, in the byline of his profile, even with privacy settings on, it listed him as a pharmacology student, class of '14, and a Technician at the Ivy University Pharmacology Lab.
This was huge. We now knew who Dahlia's boyfriend was and where he was likely to spend most of his time this summer.
We had already checked for Dahlia's name and her alias in the past, but she either had no social media or was an expert at hiding it. Doug's profile byline also listed him as "in a relationship," but there was no specific person attached, either confirming that she had no account or had hidden her account even from him. She wasn't tagged in any of the photos on the book club event page either.
We looked up the Pharmacology Lab hours of operation and, predictably, they were standard office hours, same as the firm. We'd either have to take a day off or try to rush over during our lunch break and hope Doug wasn't out for lunch at the same time. Given the amount of difficulty we had booking time off for August, especially with both of us requesting the same days off, we figured the former option would be unlikely.
So, Diego offered to go meet with Doug before one of his trials sometime. He said that, with the amount of work he put into the firm, he wasn't worried about fudging an hour or so. As far as he was concerned, he had the time banked so he was going to use it, even if Mr. Grossberg and the partners refused to fulfill many time-off requests.
After we made our plans for the next steps in the Dahlia Hawthorne case, the rest of the weekend was fairly typical for us. We lounged around his apartment, together this time, went out to eat, saw a movie, and visited his mom's place on Sunday.
Maria tried to subtly probe for information as to why we missed the visit last week, but neither of us fell for it. She switched tactics later, trying to imply that I was the reason for our absence. I bit my tongue to try and keep the peace, but Diego took the fall, saying it was him who didn't want to go and not me.
I don't know if she believed that but, thankfully, she backed off the rest of the night. I had asked to see Diego's grad photos after teasing him about them two days before and Maria happily obliged, doing me one better by showing off his childhood pictures as well. If she was annoyed with me, it didn't show as she fawned over old photographs and reminisced.
Monday was Monday, with the usual dread of starting another work week and the same boredom of sitting in on another dull team meeting. This morning, however, I had a stark realization, one I felt foolish for not noticing earlier. Suddenly, it was possible that our breakthrough in Dahlia's case would not be the most notable development of the week.
I had paced around the woman's bathroom for a few minutes this morning, trying to figure out what to do, before I finally sucked it up and walked upstairs to Diego's office to talk.
"Sorry, can I help you?" he asked, pretending like he didn't know me. Like I was just some random woman crazedly barging into his office.
"I really needed to see you about something," I said, as I shut the door and closed the blinds on one of the windows in his office. The one that looked out into the second-floor hallway.
He smiled and looked at his watch. "Well, I have to leave for the courthouse in 15 minutes, but I guess we can fit one in."
I was so frazzled that it took me a second to catch his implication. "What?" I exclaimed. "Don't be gross. It's stuff like this that put us into this mess in the first place."
He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Gross seems like a harsh choice of word, but I was obviously joking." He gestured to the closed blinds. "What's with all the secrecy though?"
"Sorry," I said softly, not looking him in the eyes. "I didn't mean it that way. It's just..." I paused, trying to get the courage. "I'm late," I continued, finally looking up at him nervously.
"Oh." He got up from his chair and started pacing, processing. He stopped and leaned back on the edge of his desk, arms crossed, looking at me. "How late?"
"Almost two weeks. I remember being happy that I didn't have to worry about it at the beach and it was already slightly late then." I sighed. "I was so stressed out last week, that I completely forgot about it."
"Well, that's not so bad, right?" he said optimistically. "Two weeks is nothing."
"Maybe," I said timidly. "But I've never been this late before."
"Right." He looked down at his shoes and started rubbing his chin, thinking. "Damn. If I didn't have a case today, we could go get a test at lunchtime." He looked up at me, standing awkwardly near his door, and he stopped leaning on the desk so he could come over and hug me. "Sorry. Will you be okay until after my trial today?"
I didn't hug him back, just letting my arms hang limp. "I guess I'll have to be," I said shortly. "Sorry," I added softly. "I didn't mean that in a shitty way. I'm just worried."
"It's okay. If I had more time, I would try to get it covered." He pulled his head away from me and tilted my chin up, trying to get me to look at him. He smiled. "Whatever happens, we'll figure it out, right?"
My eyes were darting around. I wanted to cry, but I thought that would only make things worse. It would only make me feel more anxious. I put a brave face on and nodded. "I don't know how you're being so calm about this."
"I'm a little surprised, but I can't say I never thought about this possibility. I mean, less than 90% efficacy, 200 times, shit happens."
I pulled away from him completely and shook my head in disbelief. "Okay, it makes me really uncomfortable that you counted."
He laughed and rubbed his face. "I didn't count," he clarified. "If you'll recall, I've been tasked with security detail, and they come in these lovely and colorful numbered boxes."
"Oh," I said, before mildly laughing. "We were busier than I thought."
He grinned. "Tell me about it. My coffee intake has gone up 25% since we got together."
I smiled slightly back at him before having a realization about something he said. "Less than 90%? I thought it was like 99% or something?"
"I'm just going with the average listed on the box."
"Why didn't you tell me about this?"
"I thought you knew. Didn't you read the box?"
"Nobody reads the box," I said fervently.
He laughed. "Aren't you a lawyer?" I scowled back at him. "Sorry," he said, still laughing. He made a funny face.
"What?" I asked skeptically.
"No, I'm just flattered." He grinned. "No due diligence, just going for it. Couldn't have been that worried about it."
I felt like an idiot. Why had I just trusted a statistic I only thought I remembered? "Okay, surprisingly, this is not helping me right now," I said crossly.
"You're right." He looked at his watch. "Shit, I really need to go." He started packing up his briefcase and took a quick swig of his coffee. "You can work in here today if you want. More privacy."
"Right," I said dazedly.
He came over and gave me a kiss on the forehead. "It might be nothing, right? We don't know yet." I just nodded back. He rushed out the door and down the hallway, before stopping about 15 feet away. He turned around and called out to me. "I'll swing by after the trial to get you."
I smiled half-heartedly at him. He turned back around and resumed speed-walking toward the reception door, and out to the elevator bank.
I closed his office door and let out a deep sigh before pacing around the room, trying to collect my thoughts. I wish I could just snap my fingers and know one way or the other, but I was also terrified that it wouldn't be the answer I wanted.
I kept thinking about something my mom had told me, a year or two before she left: "Once you have kids, your life isn't your own anymore." She explained that every decision you make as a mother, you now have to make with someone else in mind. When she said this, I'm sure she meant it at the time, but she sure as hell found a loophole, didn't she?
Unfortunately, I didn't have the same luxury. Once your parents leave you, and you know what it feels like to have to pick up the pieces, you can't, in good conscience, do the same thing.
As I walked around the room, I thought about my other options. If a friend came to me with the same dilemma, I would have happily talked her through all of them. I knew myself though, and that I wouldn't be comfortable with either alternative.
I wasn't ready to be a mom either though. I wouldn't be a year into my law career until October. Diego and I haven't even been together for half a year yet. I hadn't figured out the truth about the DL-6 case and how Mom's name ended up splashed across the news. The police were supposed to keep that information secret but, somehow, her identity had leaked. I hadn't traveled anywhere yet, I still had loans, and I hadn't saved enough for a law office. I didn't even have any hobbies. My whole life thus far was Kurain Village and then it was law school.
My mental state was quickly degrading right now. I knew I should go back downstairs, grab my stuff, and bring it up here to get working, but I didn't think I'd be able to focus. I was too flustered and shaken.
After about an hour of pacing, I finally went down the hall to Mr. Grossberg's office. Unfortunately, Mr. Hammond was in there with him, and they were talking about their golf swings. When I saw them talking, I started to walk away, but Mr. Grossberg called me back.
"Morning, Mia," Mr. Grossberg said brightly. "What did you need?"
"Um..." I looked over at Mr. Hammond, who appeared to be waiting intently for my response. It was hard to explain with both of them here. "Sir, I'm sorry, but I'm not feeling well today. Is it okay if I take a sick day?"
"I'm sorry to hear that, Mia. What's wrong?"
This is what I was afraid would happen. I never take days off, so a simple "sure, no problem" would have sufficed. "I just feel very queasy. Like I might throw up."
"You pregnant or something?" Mr. Hammond asked flippantly. I looked at him, mortified, incredulous that he would just say that, and yet I shouldn't be.
Mr. Grossberg tutted. "Robert, if you would re-review clause 113.1 of the employment contract, you'd know that saying something like that to a female employee is prohibited."
"Sorry," Mr. Hammond replied insincerely. "Classic early symptoms. Went through all of that with my ex-wife and our kids."
"That's fine, Mia. Please feel better," Mr. Grossberg said, desperately trying to put an end to this conversation.
"Thank you, sir," I said courteously, before walking away. As annoyed as I was with Mr. Hammond, his inappropriate responses did make it easier for me to leave.
"Do you need a drive home?" Mr. Grossberg called out.
"I'm okay," I called back. I appreciated the offer, but I didn't think I could handle making small talk with my boss for 15 minutes. "I think the walk will help."
Mr. Grossberg wished me well again and I was off, locking Diego's office, and heading back downstairs to gather my stuff. Reina was in a meeting and everyone else in the commons was either out or preoccupied with their work. Luckily, I was able to slip out without anyone else noticing or commenting.
I walked towards Diego's apartment, completely lost in my thoughts. I almost got hit by a car when I started to breeze through a stoplight, not noticing that the light was red. The car honked at me as I did, and I noticed it in time, running back onto the sidewalk and off the road.
When I made it inside his apartment, I realized that I was so out of it that I forgot to buy the pregnancy test. I felt stupid, but I couldn't bear to go outside again.
Instead, I laid down on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, and watched childhood movies that I hadn't seen since I was really little. I didn't move at all until I got a call from Diego at quarter to four.
"Hello," I answered.
"Hey, I got out early. Where are you? I was going to drive you home."
After lying down for hours, I finally sat up. "I'm so sorry. I'm at your place. I took a sick day today."
"Oh." He paused. "Did you find out yet?"
I sighed. "No, I'm an idiot. I just walked home, not thinking."
He laughed. "No worries. I'll get one on my way home. I'll see you soon, okay?"
"Okay." I hung up.
When Diego arrived almost a half hour later, I had resumed my previous position on the couch.
"How you doing?" he asked sympathetically. He took two boxes out of a plastic grocery bag and set them down in front of me on the coffee table. I didn't say anything, so he sat on one of the arms of the sofa and stroked my hair. "I got two. I wasn't sure which one to buy."
"Thanks," I said flatly. "How was the trial?"
"Alright. Will probably take all three days. I was woefully unprepared today, but the baby prosecutor they had was even worse. The judge adjourned early so he could get himself together." I nodded. He inhaled. "What do you say? Want to get this out of the way?" he said exuberantly, like some kind of motivational speaker.
I sat up again. "I don't know. This could change everything."
"Or it could be nothing."
"What if it isn't though?"
"Then, we'll figure it out."
"I don't want to figure it out," I said defiantly. "I'm not ready to give up my career, to get fat, and to be somebody's mom."
He smiled reassuringly. "You're not going to get fat. You would be pregnant."
"I could be both," I argued.
"I mean your boobs will get bigger. I didn't even think that was possible." I stared daggers at him. "Sorry. Just trying to look on the bright side." He continued, more earnestly. "Look, I'm not worried about it. Right now, if you get even a little bit stressed, you don't eat anything." He shrugged. "If you do though, you do. It's fine"
"You say that now, but you might feel differently if it actually happens."
"I say that because I think you're beautiful and I know I'll never not think that."
I paused. I wanted to scoff and push back on that statement, but it meant a lot to hear that. "What about work?"
"Yeah, I'll admit, that might be a bit tougher to figure out. Sorry to say, you'd probably have to take at least some time off. If we pushed your 'five-year plan' up a few years, and started our own office, that would be a lot more flexible though."
"I'd love to, but we can't afford that."
"Not right now, but eventually. If we have to save a bit, eat less take-out, only one apartment." He paused. "Maybe I'll have to get a place a lot cheaper than this one. We could get the money together quickly." He slid off the couch arm and sat right next to me. "Just picture it: Armando & Fey Law Offices," he said, gesturing the title in the air with his arm.
"Why not Fey & Armando Law Offices?"
He smiled. "Well, I was just going alphabetically. If we had a baby and got married eventually, maybe we'd only need one last name on the sign anyway."
"I agree. Just Fey Law Offices, then," I said cheekily.
He laughed. "Okay Armando & Fey Law Offices, it is then."
I smiled warmly at him. "I still don't know how you're being so calm about this."
"Do I look calm? Because I'm scared shitless," he joked. I laughed. "In all seriousness, it's a little soon, but... I always wanted a normal life and a normal family. I thought that would happen years down the road but, if it happens now, we'll handle it." He looked embarrassed for once. "Maybe that's oversharing."
"No, it's okay," I replied supportively. "I've always felt the same. I just thought I'd have more time." I looked at the boxes on the table and picked them up. Time to be brave. "We'll have our answer soon," I said confidently. He nodded back at me before I walked to the bathroom.
When I came out, he was over by the window, watering his plants. "You have the results yet, kitten?"
I looked at both tests. "Still loading."
"All this kid talk made me realize that I've been neglecting my plants. Poor Charley was on the brink of death."
I giggled. "You name your plants?"
"Not all of them. Just my favorite one."
I laughed again. "You're such a dork." I looked at the tests once more. "They're both negative," I said abruptly, before setting them down on the coffee table.
He set down the container he was using to water his plants and turned to look at me. "That's great news, right? All that worrying for nothing." He walked over to me and gave me a big hug.
I exhaled and gripped his back tightly. "It's bittersweet. It's really, really not the right time, but it was nice to make plans about something other than channeling and DL-6 for once. That's been my whole life up until now."
"Someday," he said softly, still hugging me.
Years ago, when I first learned about the magatama from my mom, she told me that there were some limitations to it. When we caught someone in a lie, simple lies could be easily revealed through yes or no questioning. More complex lies needed to be revealed by pointing out contradictions or through probing questions.
Then, there were the hardest lies. The ones so deep that they were buried in a person's subconscious. No amount of inquiry could reveal the lie if the person didn't even know what the truth was themselves.
I always understood the concept, but I never fully understood the feeling until today. Something deep inside me, something painful, had been unlocked and set free, and I could start to see things differently, positively, in a way I couldn't before.
"Diego?" I said, my voice faltering.
"Yes?"
"I love you."
He started laughing and he pulled his head away from the hug to look at me. "It's about damn time." I grinned back. We stared at each other for a moment, and I watched his smile fade to sincerity. "I love you too, Mia. And I always will."