It was not that Julian had run out of warmth.

He had plenty of warmth.

He had simply decided, deliberately and over a long time, that I was no longer someone worth spending it on.

I closed the laptop, and I sat in the dark of his office for a long while, and I felt eleven years of shared history, all the holidays and the hospital waiting rooms and the middle-of-the-night feedings when Leo was a baby, quietly dissolve into something hollow and false.

I did not cry then either.