“I did this,” she whispers. “Didn’t I?”
I don’t know what to say.
Because the answer is yes.
And no.
And more complicated than either.
So I don’t say anything.
Which somehow feels worse.
She moves closer.
Slow.
Like approaching a wild animal.
Sits beside me on the couch.
Our shoulders touch.
The fire pops.
Outside, the wind pushes snow against the windows.
For a second we just sit there breathing the same air.
And it hits me — hard — how tired I am of fighting.
How tired I am of bracing.
How much I miss just… us.
Before everything got sharp.
Before everything got complicated.
Before love turned into strategy.
She leans her head against my shoulder.
Small.
Careful.
Like she’s asking permission without words.
My hand moves before my brain can stop it.
Slides into her hair.
Warm.
Familiar.
God.
