She was standing in the kitchen of the apartment they had shared for two years, holding a dish towel and staring at nothing. He had asked her the question three nights before. Not the big question, not yet, but the one that comes just before it. Where are we going? Are we going to do this forever? She had said yes, of course, because she loved him. Because they had built something together. Because walking away seemed unthinkable. But now, alone with the quiet hum of the refrigerator, she realized that she had answered a question about her heart without ever asking the harder questions of her head. She had said yes to forever without ever asking what forever would actually demand of them.