We settle into the living room, an awkward dance of politeness masking the underlying tension.
She places the papers on the coffee table, an unspoken challenge.
I glance at them, the legal jargon swimming before my eyes.
“I just want to understand,” I start, choosing my words carefully.
Her gaze is steady, unwavering.
“It’s complicated,” she replies, a hint of regret in her voice.
The room feels smaller, the walls closer.
“I never intended to push you out,” she says, her tone softer now.
“But you did,” I counter, keeping my voice even.
She sighs, a small, weary sound.
“I thought we could work it out,” she offers, looking at me directly.
It’s a tentative olive branch, one I didn’t expect.
I feel the stirrings of hope, cautious and fragile.
“I want that too,” I admit, the words a release.
The papers remain between us, but their weight feels different now.
The silence stretches again, but it’s not as heavy.
“Let’s figure it out,” she says, and I nod, feeling the tension ease just a little.
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