"An affair?" I repeated, still trying to catch up. I didn't know where this story was going, but it definitely wasn't where I thought it would be. "Elio, that's—"
"Look." He held up a hand, cutting me off. His expression shifted, the playfulness draining away into something more serious. "Every time that bastard of an ex-husband would hit me or beat me up, the next day when I went to clean the prison, Ziya would take care of me. The salve I had given him to tend to his injuries? He would use it on me instead."
I stared at him, something cracking open in my chest. The image of it—Elio, battered and bruised, being cared for by a prisoner who had every reason to only think of himself—settled into my mind like a stone dropped into still water.
