A.R. Torre

Carelessness like that was how cases were lost, secrets were spread, and careers were destroyed.

I know there’s always been a true and weak moment where the thought—the hope—flickers. For most people, it’s fleeting. For some—like John—it was a splinter. A deep splinter that broke off under the skin, the sort that was almost impossible to remove unless you peeled back the entire area, and no one would do that, so it festered. It grew infected. It killed and ate away at surrounding healthy tissue and throbbed and ached and dominated every thought and action until it controlled an entire life.

I digested the apology and found that it tasted sincere.