Nathan drove in silence for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was low and even. Can I say something and you can tell me to shut up? You're the boss. Say it.
That man's been doing this to you for a while, Nathan said. Hasn't he? Victoria went very still. You didn't get drunk over one dinner, he said. Nobody who's built what you've built falls apart over one bad night.
That's not how strong people break. Strong people break slow. A hundred little cuts and every one of them so small you talk yourself out of feeling it. He didn't mean it. He was tired.
It was a joke. I'm being sensitive. He glanced at her. Am I close? Her eyes filled.
She didn't answer, but she didn't have to. How long? He asked gently. Two years, she whispered. And in two years, how many times has he made you feel small in front of other people?
She was crying now silently, the tears just running down without a sound. He says it's love, she said. He says he's the only one who understands what it takes to be with someone like me. He says other men would be intimidated. He says I'm too much.
And he's the only one strong enough to handle me. And I should be grateful because a woman like me, powerful, difficult, cold. That's the word everyone uses. Cold. A woman like me doesn't get to be loved by just anyone.
Her voice dropped to almost nothing. He says, "I need him. " Because nobody else could. Nathan pulled the truck over to the curb. He put it in park. He turned in his seat so he was facing her fully.
And he waited until she looked at him. Listen to me, he said, because I'm only going to say this once and then I'll take you home and you never have to think about me again if you don't want to. You listening? She nodded, wiping her face. You don't need somebody who makes you smaller so they can feel bigger, Nathan said.
That's not love. That's not strength. A man who's actually strong doesn't need to shrink the woman next to him. He's not scared of her being tall. He held her eyes.