"Why?" It comes out without pause, but there's plenty of hesitation, her throat tight. There is a reason. Through the ringing in her ears and the way her stomach lurches at those words, she tells herself there's a reason, that he wouldn't have done that without one. Then she tells herself that's how women end up in serious trouble, coming up with excuses for everything their boyfriends do wrong when there are no real excuses to be had. Maybe he's right, maybe she doesn't know. That doesn't make sense, though. None of this makes sense. Whatever he thinks to the contrary, whatever he's left out, she has to believe she knows him well enough to know there's a reason. Her head's gone light, though, and she can't think past her racing pulse; she can't pretend that this isn't different. Voice rising, she turns her head to look back at him, wide-eyed, searching his expression for something to make her understand. "Why did — why would you do that?"