I wonder if Matt has seen everything, and what he thinks. I picture him saying, “People will think what they want to think,” and leaving it at that. But I can’t feel the same. I feel a shudder of humiliation when I think of two things.

Of what people believe. Of what my parents will be exposed to if Matt and I continue playing with fire.

And of losing to two men who don’t deserve the seat I believe my candidate deserves.

My thoughts are racing dangerously as I open my computer and stream the news.

Pictures of me and Matt running . . .

Of Matt buying me shoes . . .

Of Matt looking at me during campaign events . . .

I keep waiting, dreading someone will have a picture of us kissing in New York. But it doesn’t pop up. I keep watching, but it still doesn’t appear.

I can’t take the guilt and the worry that it will, that it’ll all get fucked up in one second.

I shut the news tab, my throat tight as I open a new computer file. My fingers are trembling, but in my heart, beneath the pain, I know this is what I need to do.

I head to Carlisle’s office that evening. I take a seat and slide the paper across his desk. The letter is facing him, but he doesn’t read it; his eyes are fixed on me.

“My resignation,” I say quietly.

He reads it over, his expression opaque, then he lowers the paper and turns it around to face me. “Are you certain about this?” He sets a pen on the side, so that I can make it official and sign it.

I stare at it and my throat starts to close as I read my resignation letter.

Matt had a lot of thinking to do. And I hadn’t known that, in his absence, so would I.

“I couldn’t forgive myself if he lost the election because of me,” I tell Carlisle.

“I know Matt. I’ve known him since he was a teen aiding us with his own father’s campaign.” He presses his lips together. “He won’t accept your resignation,” he adds.

“He has to. You need to make him see reason. Carlisle, we’re so close to winning; we’re talking about the difference he could make not for one person, for millions.”

“I know, I know, dammit.” He sighs, jams his hands in his pockets, and looks at me. “But he wants what he wants. He wants you in the campaign. We all do.” He nods. “We’ll field whatever comes our way; you won’t be a scapegoat. Matt won’t allow it—he’s told me so himself.”

I swallow. “I’m not worried about me, I’m worried about him.”

“That’s my job, girl.” He stands and pats me on the shoulder. “Don’t think just because Matt is a nice guy, he’s not willing to get down and dirty with them if he needs to.”

“That’s not what he stands for; that’s not what he believes in.”

Carlisle leans back and eyes me narrowly. “I misjudged you, Charlotte.” He smiles at me, and nods again as he finally accepts my resignation letter.

“Thank you; that means a lot coming from you. I’ve learned a lot these past months.” I hesitate at the door, but then return to give him a hug. “Thank you for taking a chance on me, inexperience and all.”

“Well, you’re only inexperienced once, and now you’re no longer.” He smiles at me with the most fondness I’ve seen yet as he takes my letter from his desk and slips it onto the top of a pile in the right drawer.

“We’ll handle it discreetly,” he says. “Rhonda can be scheduler. We’ll say you decided to continue working and making a difference at Women of the World.”

“Thank you, and don’t worry about me talking to the media,” I say as I head to the door, suddenly overwhelmed with grief. I pack my stuff only after everyone leaves the building so there are no questions asked of me that I can’t answer.

I can’t believe I’m quitting on him. I can’t believe I won’t be able to stay and see this through. Everything I wanted to do has now been reduced to the fact that I do better by quitting? I’m disappointed that I let my own selfish emotions get in the way. But I can’t regret the time I spent with him.

I head to Matt’s desk and remove the pin that I always wear. The pin commemorating my favorite president, one I’m waiting for his son to replace. I set it on his desk and hope he knows it means . . .

Well, that it means I’m leaving because I care.

That night, I do what my mother has been aching for me to do. I pack a bag and head over to sleep at my parents’ place. When she comes into my room, there’s a long silence between us.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks softly.

I shake my head. A tear slips down my cheek. I quickly wipe it away. I shrug and look out the window, holding back the other tears.

She quietly comes over and embraces me in her warm arms. “You’re doing what you need to do. Politics are not for the faint of heart,” she reassures me. I know that she knows I fell in love with him. She saw it coming and warned me from the start.

“I know.” I nod. “I know, which is why I never really wanted to dive in until . . . well, until him.”

“You did the right thing.” She squeezes my shoulder. “So many careers around politics have been ruined by scandal and—”

“I need your help. Please. What do I do? I just don’t . . . I don’t want to be in love with him forever.”

“Nothing, Charlotte. You go on as if nothing happened. On Monday, you go back to Women of the World. You smile, you think of others, you forget about this, you forget about him. Did you two . . .”

I can’t speak it out loud, how powerless I was during moments when all I wanted was Matt’s arms around me and nothing else.

During one of our more comfortable talks during all these months of campaigning, Matt once told me a lie marks you forever with the public. You cannot lie, not ever. Twist the truths, maybe, play around with words . . . but a lie, never.

I left so he wouldn’t have to lie about me.

When my mother leaves, I take an extra-long bath in my old bathroom, then I climb into my warmest pajamas and get into bed. The same bed where I first fantasized about Matthew Hamilton.

I’m so confused, I feel heavy, as if the world’s hate is already on my shoulders.

“Here, kitty,” I call to my cat.

Doodles is a ball of white fur curled up on the windowsill. She doesn’t move from her spot.