I push open the guest room door.
My chest tight.
"This is pretty," Bella says, passing me.
Of course it is, I want to say. You decorated it.
But I don't.
Things are stressful enough without my snide inner monologue. I don't like that I feel resentful, and I hate that it's festered into nasty thoughts toward the women I love.
Yet here I am.
"No one has ever slept here." I palm my nape. "I filled the closet for you."
She meets my eyes, smile falling. "I hate that you're hurting."
I sigh, nodding. "It is what it is."