He couldn't tell if it was him or her that had changed most. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to be able to determine who had.
It wasn't that he'd changed; so much as he was a different person. He was a better person: more bearable, more tolerate. And it wasn't that she'd changed much. She was more beautiful, more special, more welcoming.
She didn't accuse him anymore. She didn't yell or scream at him when he tipped her over the edge.
And he didn't accuse her of loving him. Because they both knew that they did.