Rosewater Oasis I dream in oily fluorescent swirls

He goes on. So many things to say. Even despite her grievances, the Widower listens. 

When finally he is done, her look changes to one of firmness and finality. You mean to make home here. Spoken not as an inquiry, but as confirmation, for she already knows this to be true. 

Mentioned once before, the Widower had fled without a second thought. But now, she wonders. Has he sought her to join him, or is he merely telling her this to boast that what he has desired, he will finally have? She asks this with a steady lift of a brow, testing what words he might use next.