I entered the room and saw him sitting on my bed. His face stony and humorless. Before I could wonder, my eyes dropped to the book in his hands. My book. My journal. Expressing my most intimate thoughts and feelings and desires. Recorded by my own hand. By myself and only for myself. You’ve betrayed me, he accused me glaringly. I can’t believe what you have written.
I apologized for the evil in me. I cried and pleaded and wished it away.
Only now do I realize:
He betrayed me.