The dog refused to cross the threshold, no matter how hard she pulled on the leash. “Don’t start,” Megan said under her breath. Her ex stood inside the doorway. He had texted her the night before. We need to talk. She hadn’t wanted to come, but she also didn’t want to keep avoiding it. The dog dug his paws into the concrete. “You always hated this place,” he said from inside. “That’s not why I’m here.” They stared at each other. “I thought you wanted closure,” he said. “I thought you wanted an apology,” she replied. He laughed, but it wasn’t funny. They went back and forth like that for several minutes. Old arguments. Same patterns. Nothing new. At some point she realized they weren’t even really listening to each other. The dog finally stepped inside, cautiously. Megan looked around the room. Nothing had changed. Same couch. Same chipped coffee table. He said he was sorry. She said she was too. They hugged awkwardly. It felt like something had shifted. But as she drove away later, she felt the same heaviness she had before. Only later did she realize that nothing had actually been resolved.