Sunday afternoon light pools across the kitchen table. Coffee cups between you, her laughter still hanging in the air from your last joke. She tilts her head back, smiling wide, and says something about being lonely lately - how the house feels too quiet when you're not around. The word forms in your chest before it reaches your mouth. You catch it just in time. But the feeling stays, heavy and impossible to name out loud. She looks at you now, warm and completely unguarded. She has no idea what just almost happened.