“You askaroundthe things that matter.”
I set the glass down.
“I don’t want to push.”
“Since when?”
I shrug. “Since I started wanting more than just to win.”
She watches me then. Like I’m some ancient relic that started moving under glass.
“You’re changing.”
“Trying.”
“Why?”
“Because he deserves better. And so do you.”
Her eyes flick to the hallway. Where the baby’s sleeping.
“Say it,” she whispers.
My throat clenches. “Say what?”
“What you want to ask.”
I meet her eyes.
She doesn’t blink.
The words come. Half-formed. Barely air.
“Is he?—?”
She swallows.
And looks away.
“I can’t,” she says. “Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because the moment I say it, everything changes.”
I nod.
Then stand.
And gather the blanket from the chair.
I drape it over her legs.
She grabs my wrist as I turn.
“Don’t give up on me,” she whispers.
“Not in a million cycles.”
