keep going to counseling.”
“Yes.”
“You stay in the guest room.”
His face dropped slightly.
“For now.”
“For now,” he agreed.
“And we stop trying to save each other from difficult conversations.”
He nodded.
“That may be the hardest one.”
“Probably.”
Then I reached out.
Rowan took my hand.
It wasn’t a dramatic reconciliation.
No promise that everything would suddenly be perfect.
Just two exhausted people sitting on a nursery rug at two in the morning, accepting that staying together would require more courage than pretending nothing had happened.
Three
