I am thinking how much I wish we were driving to a police station because I’m kind of a suspect in a murder case, but one who has no other terrible problems. Not one who has just confessed to cyber infidelity, and been told she’s forgiven, and doesn’t believe it for a second. ‘You can’t forgive me,’ I say. ‘I don’t believe you have. Not so soon.’ Adam sighs. ‘Well, I have. I’m not sure what you expect me to do to convince you. I’ve not shouted, or refused to talk about it. I’m not being off with you, am I?’ He sounds anxious to please me. I sense he’s turned to look at me. I wish he’d be more careful while he’s driving. Keeping my eyes on the road, I say, ‘You’re being exactly the same as you always are. How is that possible? Don’t you care?’ I want him to care. Two days into my correspondence with him, King Edward asked me how I’d feel about us pledging to be exclusive to one another, though he made clear that this vow of exclusivity couldn’t include spouses.
