The silence in the kitchen stretched until it became its own kind of pressure.

Daniel’s words — the kind that exist for a reason — hung between us, heavier than anything either of us had said in the days before. He still hadn’t looked away. In the low light above the stove, his expression was stripped of its usual control. What remained was tired, conflicted, and far too honest.

I should have gone back upstairs. I should have let the moment close. Instead I stayed where I was, hands resting against the edge of the island, pulse loud in my ears.

“What are you actually saying?” I asked quietly.

He...