The hotel's small café is half-empty. Morning clatter drifts like rain on plates. Natalie sits by the window with a paper cup of tea that smells like nothing she plans to sell. Caroline is at the counter pretending the pastry case is a battlefield she can win.
Andrew walks in, stops when he sees Natalie alone, and crosses the room
“Natalie," he says.
“Sit," she answers. “You have five minutes."
He sits. He doesn't reach for her hands. He puts both palms on the table “I'm sorry for earlier," he says. “For last night. For
“I know." “When we married, I thought I understood us. I mistook your silence for agreement."
He takes the cut.
“I told myself it didn't matter," he says. “Then I told myself you'd forgive me because you were kind. Then I stopped asking what you liked because I t
