Ford bit his lower lip, and his eyebrows crinkled with hurt. He was trying to share something sincere, something that had been weighing heavily on his mind for months, and it sounded like Macnair was making fun of him. "It's different," he insisted quietly. "You know it's different." Ford wasn't going to try and defend himself here, or explain it if Macnair didn't understand. Married men spending time with their wives was all intrinsic to the family; it was something that contributed to, rather than detracted from, the support system their child had. Ford was an outsider in this scenario. Any moments they spent together were stolen moments, and here the phrase stolen moments wasn't just a romantic expression — they were literally stolen from Macnair's other responsibilities, from his wife and soon from his child.

He took a breath, trying to reset slightly. This conversation was going to be difficult enough without holding on to the hurt from Macnair's tone just now. "I don't want to lose you," he said. This should have been obvious, but restating it was something of an olive branch. "It's just — I'm going to."

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