She pulled back to look at me.

“For what?”

“For not listening to you sooner about him.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t ever apologize for coming home.”

Laura’s apartment had never been designed for guests.

The spare room was half office and half storage, with a folded treadmill near the window and a stack of books on the desk.

She found clean sheets, set a bottle of water beside the bed, and offered me one of her oversized T-shirts.