Camila stepped outside gently, closing the glass door behind her with a soft click.
Billy was still seated, elbows on the table, one hand absently circling the rim of his glass.
He didn't look up right away.
Camila didn't speak at first. She walked over and settled into the chair Eleanor had just left, the cushion still slightly warm. Her presence wasn't intrusive. Just there. Solid. Familiar.
Billy finally glanced her way.
"She's kind," he said, voice soft.
Camila nodded.
"She is."
A small pause.
"And she didn't want this either," he added.
Camila folded her arms on the table, resting her chin there like they used to do as kids during lazy Sundays.
"Sometimes the people who do everything right… end up in the wrong place anyway."
Billy gave a faint smile at that — dry, but honest.
"We're free now," he said.
"You are," she corrected gently. "And I'm glad."
Another quiet pause, filled only by the breeze rustling the edge of the tablecloth.
