He had fallen short, fallen behind. His indiscretion beclouding an otherwise bright sky.
He tightened his grip on her; her eyes searched his, questioningly.
"I'm sorry I annulled seven years of our life together, Angela." They both stared at their signatures until they were but blots of blurred black ink.
"It was a mutual decision." She said quietly.
"No it wasn't," he said, his voice rising.
"Would you have consented to it?"
"No." "I do forgive you, though."
"Ang, in sayin' that you wouldn't have consented to my... you've just admitted that we were--- that I...betrayed you. How can you forgive me without a second thought? I can't even forgive myself."
"And yet you've just admitted that the decision wasn't mutual; in saying that, you're taking responsibility for it. Admitting, too, that we were more than boss and employee long before we signed in as Mr.& Mrs. is better than any apology you could ever give me."
"How'd you get so smart, Mrs. Micelli?"
"Oh, I'm sorry Ang, I meant to say Bower-Micelli."
"Tony, we're divorced, remember?"
"Ya had remind to remind me that I'm a divorced Catholic." "As if seein' it in black and white isn't bad enough."
"I'm sorry." She said simply.
"Not as sorry as I am," he muttered under his breath.