Page 224 of Override

"The relationship ended eight months ago. The emotional response associated with that event has decreased substantially since then."

That doesn't seem to help. "I don't blame her."

Her head tilts. "You don't?"

"No."

"But..." She glances toward the bedroom again. "She cheated on you."

"Yes."

"And you don't blame her?"

The answer feels obvious. "No."

She waits. When I don't elaborate, she finally asks, "Why?"

I lean against the doorframe, folding my arms across my chest. "My brain works differently."

"I know."

"I don't mean intelligence."

She shakes her head. "I know what you meant."

"I require routine."

She nods. "I've noticed."

"I notice patterns other people don't." Another nod. "I become uncomfortable when those patterns change unexpectedly."

She smiles faintly. "I've definitely noticed that."

"My food is organized. My schedule rarely changes. I've eaten the same breakfast for..." I pause, doing the math. "...approximately four years."

That earns a quiet laugh.

"I don't always understand why people react emotionally to situations before they explain them." Her smile fades just enough for me to continue. "I miss things I'm apparently supposed to recognize."

Like flirting. Sarcasm. When someone wants comfort instead of a solution.

"I have habits that most people eventually find exhausting." The words don't hurt to say. They're simply accurate. "I understand that."

Silence stretches between us.

"I don't think she stopped loving me because she met someone else." The sentence leaves my mouth before I realize I've never actually said it aloud. Maeve doesn't interrupt. "I think she met someone else because she stopped loving me."

I look past her into the room. "Those aren't the same thing." She remains quiet. "People don't usually leave relationships because of one event."

They leave because of hundreds. Thousands. Small disappointments accumulating over time until the outcome becomes inevitable.

"My habits didn't suddenly appear the day I found them together." I smile without humor. "They were always there."

I glance back at Maeve. "I think she simply reached the point where loving me required more effort than she wanted to give."

The apartment falls quiet. For a long moment, neither of us says anything.

Then Maeve asks the question so softly I almost miss it. "Do you really believe that?"