Once out of the shower and patted dry, she slipped the white fluffy towel around her shoulders and walked into the hall with it, holding it to her nose and lips. She wanted it to be scratchy, telling her through texture that she didn’t deserve the instant comfort for having done this to Bette – for being with Henry – bit it didn’t. The towel soothed her just the same.

The stereo player just stared at her, and she thought about playing her favourite CD. The one that Bette played on those rainy days they had enjoyed together. She brought her eyes down and wiped her face with the towel again, her heart weak with images of it all; of Bette and Candace, of herself and Henry. She wondered how it all could have happened, and how time had slipped away from them, but she knew how upset Bette was with her. That she probably would have asked for her key back, had she known Tina would visit the house this way, in secret.

Sadly, with feet dragging along, she walked back into the bedroom. She crawled up on it, discarding the towel on the floor and sinking into the spot where she knew Bette preferred to sleep. The comforter soothed her breasts first, and then her stomach as she lowered herself into the touch of a bed she had known so intimately before. She closed her eyes, smoothing her hands over the pillow above her head. How she wanted it all back again, in a way she knew she couldn’t have it. She inhaled and then flipped herself over, seeking out the warmth between her legs. There was no tease, and there was no fantasy. She just laid there, legs open, pleasing herself slowly. She was vulnerable in this room that had once been her own, and at peace with the silence around her. She tilted her head to the soft, downy pillow and inhaled again as she moved only one finger inside of herself, remembering how it used to be with Bette. Remembering also how she wouldn’t let Henry go down on her, because she had only ever allowed Bette to touch her that way. She had always missed Bette’s lips.

She wanted to cry now, but she couldn’t. She could only seek out the attainable pleasure, willing it closer. Although it was enticing, she couldn’t let herself climax there, so she crawled off of the bed and picked up the towel to return it to the hamper.

Her quiet rhythm of footsteps halted as she pulled the dress back over her head, feeling as naked as ever, even fully clothed.

As she drifted past the shelves and walked to the kitchen table, she saw a note addressed to Bette. It was from a woman, but Tina didn’t know who. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t read it, but she would be depressed over how they had gotten to this point. Her life felt so empty.

When she left, she took all of her things except for the earrings she had left from her shower. Bette would find them when she came home from work, confused but hopeful that Tina had come. Although it wasn’t settling to know someone had been in her house without her permission, the comfort came from the fact that it was Tina; the woman she still loved after all that had kept them apart. So many complications.

With unsteady hands, she called Tina and asked her about the visit into a home that had once been theirs together. She held the earrings in one hand, the receiver in the other as she listened to the quiet words she could hardly make out on the other end.

"Forgive me, love."

About the earrings? About Henry? About the unexpected intrusion that had brought a warmth back to their home? What was she referring to, and could Bette forgive all she had done?

As the life had rushed back into her hands, her arms and her heart, Bette smiled, replying that she did.