☞ action

That he was sick? [Something in the look she levels at the other woman implies her assent, though she can't bring herself to nod. She's thought about her marriage more, here, than she has in years; the City likes to dig it up, teasing her with her past and her future alike. The photo on her shelf, the ring on Chase's finger. There's more, so much more that she can't bring herself to explain-- not now, not here, and not to her; because they aren't friends even if they're speaking civilly. But it's a start.]

I loved him. [It was enough then. The only reason she questions whether it would be enough, again, is that she's lived it; she's not sure if she could walk with a double weight of loss, if things go wrong again.] And... he needed me.