The coffee filters were on the top shelf, but Kayla kept asking Andrew to reach them whenever she crossed our kitchen in a towel. She called it a test, even after I told her to stop. On Sunday, Andrew set down his coffee, unlocked his phone, and showed her why he’d stopped leaving the room that day.

No attempt to make the sentence less ugly.

Then Kayla said, “I kept waiting to find out what he’d done.”

“And he hadn’t?”

“No.” Her voice dropped. “I just wanted there to be a reason.”

I finally understood why she’d been watching Andrew so closely.

Not because she wanted him.

Because she wanted him to become evidence.

“You wanted to know mine wasn’t different,” I muttered. “If Andrew failed your test, then Eric made sense.”

Kayla looked at me. Then she turned back toward the window.

“And if Andrew didn’t?”

She picked at a loose corner of the phone case.

When she answered, her voice was almost too quiet to hear.

“Then maybe it wasn’t relationships.”

I waited.

I pulled into our driveway and shut off the engine.

Neither of us reached for the doors.

After a minute, Kayla said, “I wasn’t trying to take Andrew from you.” She finally looked at me. “I just needed to know.”

I reached for the door handle, then stopped.

Kayla watched me.

“It doesn’t explain why my ‘no’ stopped mattering to you.”

Her hand went still around the phone.

And this time, she didn’t argue.

Inside, Kayla put the ugly robe back on the chair.

“I am sorry,” she said.

I waited.

“Not for being heartbroken. I’m still pretty committed to that.”

She looked at the robe.

“I’m sorry I decided you had to prove your boundary made sense before I’d respect it.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I’m not asking you to.”

We sat at the kitchen table and gave “temporary” an actual shape.

Kayla would keep applying for jobs. Once she had income, she’d contribute something small. We’d revisit the room listings together and choose a realistic move-out date.

“And no more tests,” I warned.