Propped up against the pillows, he held her as she read. She dwelt too long on these pages, though, because her thoughts distracted her from reading. He noticed this, and thought that now might be a good time to ask.
"May I ask why you were crying the other day?"
She put down her book, turned into him, and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Neither of them expected this.
"It's because you're so good to me," she began. "You're loyal and kind and helpful, and you always care about my happiness, even though you don't love me," she said, saying aloud what usually stayed unspoken, "and sometimes I just can't take the contradiction."
She did not cry this time; she didn't even know why she'd cried the other day, as nothing was new.
He held her, but was silent; he couldn't think of anything true to say, and he could not lie to her.
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