The sound of tearing paper still echoed in her ears.

Moira stared at the scraps in Matthew’s hand–two jagged halves of her question and waited for the silence to give her more than it did.

“I don’t regret it,” he said again, softer this time. But his eyes didn’t meet hers. They were fixed on the torn paper like it held more truth than either of them wanted to say aloud.

She signed, ‘Then stop acting like you do.’

Matthew’s shoulders stiffened. For a second, the veneer ...