“Back to England?”
“Yes.”
A beat passes.
Then, carefully, “Because of me?”
There is no ego in it.
If anything, concern.
I turn my head towards him.
“No,” I say softly. “Not only because of you.”
He nods once, waiting.
“I wanted Toronto to work,” I admit. “I kept telling myself I’d settle if I gave it enough time.”
Mark says nothing.
Just listens.
“But after a while everything started feeling borrowed. The flat. The office. The routine.” I swallow. “I missed home.”
My voice drops.
“I missed Sophie. Luke. My house. Familiar things.”
And then:
“I missed you enough that it started infecting everything else.”
Something shifts in Mark’s face.
He reaches across and takes my hand.
His fingers thread through mine.
Warm. Steady.
“We could have tried distance,” he says quietly.
“I know.”
“I would have.”
I blink.
“What?”
He shrugs, but there is nothing casual in it.
“If staying there had been right for you, I’d have made it work. Flights. Time off. Whatever it took.”
My chest tightens.
“You say that very calmly for a man discussing transatlantic commuting.”
