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.
