Ch. 4: Midnight Terms

Rain traced long silver lines down the window, and somewhere a clock counted the hours.

"You shouldn't have come," she 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.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me," Nina said. "I'm asking you to listen." 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.

Money could buy a great many things, she had learned, but never the one thing that was wanted most. She remembered the first time, and the last, and all the ordinary days in between that had somehow mattered more. "You shouldn't have come," she said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to.

"You shouldn't have come," she 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. For a heartbeat the careful distance between them thinned to nothing at all.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me," Nina said. "I'm asking you to listen." She remembered the first time, and the last, and all the ordinary days in between that had somehow mattered more.

The past was not a place you could visit and leave unchanged. It followed you home.