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He does.But not exactly the way I think.

“Sit,” he says.

He makes coffee like he does everything else—measured, exact.Like the only ritual he still trusts is one that ends in boiling water.

I don’t speak at first.Just sit on the barstool by the counter and let the smell fill the silence.He doesn’t look at me, but he pours two cups.

He slides a mug across the counter.Black, no sugar.He’s been paying attention.

“So,” he says, “Robert.Tell me about him.”

“Careful.You’re close to ruining the best coffee I’ve had in weeks.”

“Holy matrimony that bad?”

“He’s not my husband.”

That earns a look.

“He’s my boyfriend,” I say.“Technically, my loan officer.”

He doesn’t ask for more.He just waits.

“I met him when I was young.Twenty.He was older.Smarter.Knew how to listen.”I wrap my hands around the mug as if it might anchor me.“At first, he made me feel like I’d invented the world.After a while, he made me feel like I owed him for it.”

Vance doesn’t nod.Doesn’t interject.Just watches my face.“It wasn’t always bad,” I say.“That’s the worst part.People always ask why you don’t leave.They never ask why you stay.Sometimes, the answer’s the same.”

I take a sip.The coffee’s hot.Bitter.Perfect.

There’s a long pause.

He finally speaks.“You love him.”

It’s not a question.“I can’t not love him.He’s the kind of man who teaches you that love has conditions—and they’re always changing.”

His expression shifts, just barely.Enough to tell me I’ve hit something familiar.

“And you?”I say, eager to end the conversation.“You mentioned your mom was sick…and she made you believe you were, too.”

“Munchausen by proxy,” he says.“I didn’t learn the term until I was older.By then it was already over.At least the part with doctors and medicine.”

“But not the damage.”

“No,” he says.“Not that.”

I drain the rest of my coffee.Set the mug down.

“You think you’re past it,” he adds.“But then something small happens.A smell.A sound.Someone says something that doesn’t add up.And suddenly you’re ten again.”

“You should get groceries,” I say.“We’re out of things that count as food.”

His voice comes slower this time.“You think I’m going to leave you here alone?”

I shrug.“I think if you stay, one of us is going to do something we can’t take back.”

He doesn’t answer.

Just watches me like he’s hoping I’ll be the first.