Her fingers tightened around the wrapper. “I didn’t fight because I thought you’d finally said what both of us were too tired to admit.”

“That we didn’t love each other?”

Her eyes lifted fast. “No.” The answer came so sharply it startled me. Then her voice softened. “That love had stopped being enough by itself.”

The distinction opened something in me. Not hope exactly. Something quieter — like a door unlocking, though neither of us had touched the handle yet.

“I never stopped loving you,” I said.

She looked down so fast I wished I could pull the sentence back. “That isn’t fair,” she whispered.