Back home, I find her waiting in the kitchen, her posture tense but determined. It’s clear she’s ready to talk, and I feel a blend of relief and apprehension.
“So,” I begin, settling across from her. “The meeting went as expected. They think you’re distracted, and I… I think you need to know some things. About us. About me.”
She listens intently, her eyes locked on mine, and I realize this is the moment to bridge the gap that’s been widening between us.
We talk late into the night, pieces of our lives laid bare on the table. It’s messy, uncomfortable, but also liberating in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
By the time our words slow, there’s a new understanding between us. Not everything is resolved, but there’s a start—a shared knowledge that wasn’t there before.
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