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They sit on opposite sides of the kitchen table. She looks down at the floor, twisting her fingers until she interlinks them in her lap. He looks at her. For a moment her eyes flicker up and meet his, then she finds herself studying the wood grain of their cupboard.

“Do you want me to go?”

She swallows down a no, then a yes. In slow motion she raises her head, gaze shifting from the corner of the cupboards to the counter, then the backsplash. Her voice is smaller and softer than she remembers. “I can go stay with my parents. It’s only fair.” There’s pressure in her ears, like when she was younger and she would dive all the way to the bottom of the pool and somersault.

A tear escapes and she hooks her sweater on her thumb to wipe it away, blinking to try and push the others back. Bitter thoughts surge at her peripheries and she has to fight to keep them off her tongue.

The questions play on a loop in her head. Why couldn’t you just ask me? Why couldn’t you just tell me? Why couldn’t —

“This isn’t what I wanted, but I respect your decision,” he says. She has to close her eyes to prevent herself grasping onto his voice for comfort.

His voice plays in her head among the questions. I told you when I asked about your day. I told you when I listened to your stories. I told you when I bought you flowers.

She pushes herself back from the table and stands up, brushing imaginary crumbs from her pants. He motions to follow but she shakes her head. “I just have to get some stuff together. I’ll let you know when I’m heading out.”

His voice in her head again, while she’s filling a roller with whatever she can think of. Toothbrush. Underwear. E-Reader. Headphones. Isn’t it enough? his memory asks as she packs her skincare. Can it ever be enough?

She clears her throat and calls hey down the hallway to let him know she’s ready. In the entryway, she notices he’s wearing argyle socks she knit him.

They hug, a little stiffly, each careful not to lean in too far. She walks over the threshold and turns but still can’t meet his gaze.

“I’ll miss you,” he says, and she holds words in her mouth she won’t ever say to him again.