“I know she loves me,” he said.
“I know.”
“She has always loved me.”
“Yes.”
“But I think she loves me more than she knows how to love properly.”
I didn’t respond immediately.
“And that kind of love can still destroy things,” he added.
“Yes.”
Then he said:
“I want to come home.”
I stayed silent.
“If you’ll let me.”
He quickly continued.
“Not because of the house. I understand the house. The house is yours. I mean home as in… you.”
I closed my eyes.
“Felix.”
“Yes?”
“There is something you need to understand first.”
“Okay.”
“The way I acted for eight years—the silence, the patience—that wasn’t weakness.”
“I know.”
“I need you to know it, not just say you understand it.”
“You were preparing.”
“Yes.”
“The entire time.”
“Yes.”
“You let her keep talking.”
“Yes.”
“Because you knew where it might end.”
“I suspected where it might end.”
