I had stood in doorways.

I had kissed a forehead on my way to somewhere.

I had not, in three months, stayed.

She described it without raising her voice, and the quietness of it was what made it unanswerable.

If she had accused me, I could have defended myself; I was very good at defending myself, at turning an attack back on the attacker, at making the person who named my failures sound unreasonable for naming them.

But she was not attacking.