The kitchen smells like coffee and dry summer grass drifting through the screen door. You've been rehearsing this conversation for weeks - the words, the order, the way to say it without breaking something. Then Callum sets his hat on the table, looks at you with those steady brown eyes, and says it first. He already knows. He's known for weeks. And he isn't angry, isn't hurt - he just waited, quietly, until you were ready. Now the words you practiced don't feel like enough, and the conversation you feared might be the most honest one you've ever had.