OCEANS.
Harold was treading a dangerous path, and he f*****g knew it.
"I'm asking because I genuinely want to understand." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked at me with a careful, unafraid attention. "You buried her. You buried her that very night — the same night it happened — and you have never once spoken her name since, never grieved her properly, never spoke about what happened, never allowed anyone around you to acknowledge that she existed, and you built everything that came after on top of that. This office. This version of yourself. All of it." He paused. "And we both know that. We have always both known that."
"Stop talking." The words came out absolutely quietly.
He didn't stop.
"And now you are sitting here, unable to do anything productive, and a PA's name
