A moral debt as stark as a sheer drop. Finally, reprieve from the thumb of lies was coming. Three years she’d stolen from him, and they were owed, as, though he had sinned too, he had paid, but she had paid for nothing. She knew what she’d done, though she pretended to have not trespassed in any way, the conviction of a faithless ego. While his travail, so long-lasting an undeserved, was nearing its end, hers would come in its own time, and it would stem from her own refusal to confess, to follow her heart instead of the path set for her by those who coddled her delusions, her dishonesty. He would be free, and, though she would feign no wrongdoing forever, she would never be, continuing on her own path to nothing real, remaining defined by her shallow heart. She’d damaged his future, and she owed him his time back.