Days turned into weeks, the document never far from my thoughts. I met with Jane again, this time at our childhood home, its familiar creaks and echoes adding to the weight of our conversation. “I wish things were different,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
I nodded, understanding but not accepting. “We need to fix this,” I said, my tone firm. “Together.”
She looked at me, a flicker of hope in her eyes. “Maybe we can find a way,” she said. “I don’t want to lose you over this.”
It wasn’t a resolution, but it was a start. We had a long way to go, but at least we were talking.
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