I woke up Friday knowing it was the day Roman had said *after your father* and lay in bed for three full minutes deciding how to be a person about it.
The hand against his chest had been real. I'd done it without deciding to, which was how I knew it was honest, and I hadn't taken it back, which was how I knew I didn't want to. But the night had given me hours to think and thinking was where I got myself into trouble because I was very good at building logical cases for things that weren't logical.
Twelve months. That had been the case.
Clean exit. That had been the plan.
The plan had not accounted for Roman standing in entrance halls with his father's words sitting in his chest looking at me like I was the only fixed point in his life.
I got up, made coffee, and decided to be honest.
