He knocked on her bedroom door at eleven.She'd been lying in the dark for two hours doing absolutely nothing useful with her brain - just running the argument on a loop, picking it apart, putting it back together, finding new angles she hadn't fully examined the first time around. The knock was three times, measured, patient, and she already knew it was him because it was always him."Come in," she said, to the ceiling.He opened the door and leaned in the frame the way he did - jacket off, shirt untucked, the undone version of himself that she'd stopped pretending she didn't have complicated feelings about."I'm sorry," he said.She turned her head to look at him.He said it again. "I'm sorry. The way I came at you tonight wasn't-" he stopped. Looked at the floor briefly, like he was making sure the next words were the right ones. "I said some things that were true but I said them like I had some kind of right to be frustrated with you for how you're handling something genuinely har
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