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July 1, 2012
"You know, you never did say you were sorry."

He looked at me from where he sat propped against the bed pillows, remote in his hand. "I didn't? I thought I had. Well...sorry."

I studied him as I did Monet, searching for clarity among a cataract blurriness. What was I doing with him? Why was I in his bed again?

"I'm sorry, too," I said, then kissed his cheek and stood.

"Are you leaving?"

For the first time, I looked at him through clear eyes. "Yes. It's light now."