Smaller.
Fuller.
Like something missing just came back.
We stand there awkwardly, two people who once knew each other better than anyone alive.
“You okay?” she asks.
I almost laugh.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I think I’m better than I was this morning.”
“I’m sorry you found out like that.”
“I’m not,” I say. “I don’t think I would have understood it any other way.”
I sit on the edge of the bed.
“I keep replaying that night,” I continue. “The things I said.”
“You were hurt.”
“I was wrong.”
Her eyes soften.
“I didn’t lose you because you didn’t trust me,” I say.
“I lost you because you trusted me more than the system.”
Her expression breaks just a little.
“I never wanted you to carry that.”
“You did,” I say quietly. “So I wouldn’t have to.”
She sits in the chair across from me.
“I thought if I didn’t explain, it would hurt less.”
“You’ve always been terrible at judging what hurts me.”
A faint smile flickers.
Then fades.
“I don’t know what we are now,” she says.
“I know what we’re not.”
She waits.
“We’re not enemies.”
A pause.
“We’re not broken.”
