Ch. 9: Rules of the Game

The letter had arrived without a name, and that was the first thing that frightened her.

"You shouldn't have come," he said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to. Sophia crossed the room slowly, aware of every step, of the way he was watching without seeming to. "You shouldn't have come," he said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to.

There was a history between them that neither would name, written in the things they did not do. There was a history between them that neither would name, written in the things they did not do. "I'm not asking you to forgive me," Sophia said. "I'm asking you to listen."

The conversation turned, the way conversations do, from the easy things to the ones that mattered. The conversation turned, the way conversations do, from the easy things to the ones that mattered. "You shouldn't have come," he said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me," Sophia said. "I'm asking you to listen." "You shouldn't have come," he said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to. Sophia crossed the room slowly, aware of every step, of the way he was watching without seeming to.

He had built his whole life on being certain. She had a way of making certainty feel like a cage.

She remembered the first time, and the last, and all the ordinary days in between that had somehow mattered more. The conversation turned, the way conversations do, from the easy things to the ones that mattered. For a heartbeat the careful distance between them thinned to nothing at all.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me," Sophia said. "I'm asking you to listen." "You shouldn't have come," he said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to.

Tomorrow would ask its questions. Tonight, she let herself simply breathe.