"Yeah, I know," she said quietly, making her way into her bedroom. Her clothes were all over the floor, a painful reminder of just how clean Marshall had been all the time, how different his room had looked from hers. "I still kind of want to kick him." That wouldn't fix anything at all and Harry was right, it wasn't Marshall's fault at all. He hadn't done anything to cause this.

But being pissed off was easier than being sad.

She kicked off her sandals, Marshall's cardigan still held in one hand, then stretched out on her side on the bed without bothering to get undressed. It wasn't about sleeping now, she didn't want to be comfortable, but she didn't want to be sitting anywhere else anymore either.