She was not furious.

She was done.

And done, she was beginning to understand, was a far more dangerous thing than furious, because furious wants to win an argument, and done has already left the room in its mind and is only waiting for the body to follow.

She had never understood, before that afternoon, the difference between the two, and it is a difference worth understanding, because people who love a conflict-avoider often mistake the one for the other, fatally, right up until it is too late.

Furious is loud, and furious is engaged, and furious, however unpleasant, is a form of hope — it is the state of a person who still believes the relationship is worth fighting for, who is shouting precisely because they want to be heard, who wants something from you badly enough to fight about it.