The bedroom is dark except for the pale glow bleeding under the curtains. Emily is sitting on the edge of the bed, back to you, arms locked around herself like she's the only thing holding herself together. She filed the report today. She answered every question, kept her voice steady, signed her name. Now it's 3AM and the steadiness is gone. She hasn't asked you to move closer. She hasn't asked you to stay away either. Four years of knowing exactly how to love her — and right now you're not sure a single one of those instincts applies. She flinches when she reaches for you. She goes quiet when she needs you most. The woman who used to pull you in without thinking twice is sitting inches away, and the distance feels enormous. You're awake. You're here. That has to count for something.