He was unsure whether it was the way she commanded him or the underlying threatening tone, but the words that left her mouth - bar the comment on their hypothetical daughter's name, which he ignored - had him seething in silence. She didn't understand, did she? She never would, because in her mind, this was about her.

"Well then," he said coolly, though the sigh that accompanied his words made him sound less harsh than he'd intended, "I don't think you'll be happy with me, then - whether you love me or not." There were plenty of things he could say - "It wasn't like I ever intended to marry anyways" or maybe even "Snap and then what? Find yourself someone else to crawl into bed with when I'm at work?" - but for some reason he couldn't find the willpower to be so cruel to her, even if it would make her happier in the long-haul.

"I'm always going to be afraid that I'm not enough because I've never been enough. It's not about you, it's not about your fidelity or a question of your love for me - it's a matter of whether I can keep you, February," he explained, his words leaving his mouth in a rushed ramble. "I can stop questioning you if that's what you wish," he said, standing up from the bed's edge, "but I'll never stop thinking it."

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