"You might."
"I might not be worth protecting."
"That's not possible."
She looked away, and I saw the faint flush of color on her cheeks. She wasn't as immune to this as she pretended. The knowledge sent a spark of heat through my chest.
"Breakfast," she said, changing the subject with almost comic abruptness. "Is there food? I'm starving."
"There's food. Sit. I'll make something."
Her eyebrows rose. "You cook?"
"I survive. There's a difference."
"That's not reassuring."
"It wasn't meant to be."
She almost smiled. Almost. It was gone before it fully formed, but I saw it—a crack in the armor, a glimpse of the woman beneath the walls.
I made eggs. Nothing fancy—scrambled, with toast and more coffee—but she ate like she hadn't eaten in days, which she probably hadn't. I watched her across the kitchen island, trying not to be obvious about it, failing completely.
"Your eggs are getting cold," she said without looking up.
"I'm not hungry."
"You're a terrible liar."
"I'm an excellent liar. Just not with you."
She did look up then, meeting my eyes, and something passed between us. Awareness. Tension. The acknowledgment of a connection neither of us had asked for but couldn't seem to escape.
"This is strange," she said.
"Which part?"
"All of it. Sitting in your kitchen, eating eggs you made me, having a conversation like normal people." She set down her fork. "Twelve hours ago, I was your therapist. Now I'm your wife. The whiplash is... considerable."
"Do you regret it?"
"The marriage?"
"Any of it."
She considered the question longer than I expected. "No," she said finally. "I don't regret it. I don't understand it, I'm not sure I trust it, and I have no idea what happens next. But I don't regret it."
"That's more than I expected."
"I'm full of surprises."
"I'm beginning to realize that."
We finished breakfast in something approaching comfortable silence. She helped me clean up—insisted on it, actually, despite my protests—and I found myself watching her move through my kitchen like she belonged there. She didn't, not yet. But the image wasn't as jarring as it should have been.
"I need to contact my patients," she said when we were done. "Cancel my appointments. I can't just disappear without explanation."
"We can arrange that. Secure line, nothing traceable."
