She'd gone into this assuming he'd protest the invitation; and she understands, at least in part. Of course it feels unfair to him, having laid all this at her feet-- the mysterious end of things, their daughter, their son.

"This isn't about expectations." Not even hers. She'd be lying if she said sex hadn't crossed her mind at all-- it's impossible not to be curious, knowing in the abstract that they'll get there. Have gotten there. A few years to their son's birth-- it can't even be all that long before they do.

"I'd rather not be alone," she adds, a little softer, taking one step further into the room. She hasn't forgotten how much better it had felt to be curled into his side; she couldn't have weathered those revelations alone. He can't really expect her to be apart from him now.