"I wouldn't have let you through the door if I didn't," I admit, shifting closer, my nose brushing his cheek.

There's a difference between forgiving him for it, and forgetting what happened. A difference between forgiveness and thinking it was okay, thinking I somehow deserved it. I trust him, I forgive him, but I also know I have to keep my guard up. I know that things aren't magically okay, now that he remembers our life together. I'm not fucking stupid.

Well, not completely.