It is dusk, that crimson hour when remnants from the day sigh with relief at being able to rest. We have not spoken for a long while. Days, actually, but who keeps track? “I want out” she speaks in formal voice. My eyes try to absorb her essence as I feign surprise. She looks down. I lean in, stroke her cheek like she likes me to do and for the first time in forever I am aware of the singes of auburn in her hair.