He immediately regretted it.

Had it come to this.

Had it taken her refusal to make him say the thing that had always been left unsaid.

Had he taken leave of his senses.

A proposal in a graveyard.

An admission of love in the midst of an argument.

Bitterness from desire.

Ire from need.

Hate from love.

She regretted not finding the right words.

She regretted letting him have his say without come back.

She regretted all the smart witty, stinging things she could have said.

She regretted everything that had happened that day.

His question.

Her answer.

His reaction.

Her explanation.

She regretted that scene in his office.

But she did not know how to act right now, she did not know how to react right now.

So she sat.

At home.

Alone.

Lonely.