Irony

His face was lit in the doorway like a sculpture - something that spoke of emotion and history, but remotely. As if accessing any of that required a hammer and chisel, and plenty of time.

He stared down, eyes unmoving.

"Andrea," he said. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you."

She looked up at him with a face that was a mix of curiosity and irritation. He'd waited so long. Maybe now he'd open up.
The reaction was formulaic. Men always waited until the last moment before their conscience won.
He'd be hers tonight. Maybe forever.

"I want you to go." He said, voice soft. Calculated. As if the decision was as old as that stony face, but only now was it being told.

The house of cards came down.

"But... you don't... I thought..."

His face softened somewhat.

"You thought I was going to try and stop you."

"Yes."

"I won't."

"Why not?"

"Why would I?"

The illusion failed completely.
The loop had closed, and Andrea had found she'd fallen outside of it.

There were words, then. Empty words. The conversation had essentially ended with that question. Why would he? Why would anyone?

The human machine failed, then. There was no answer. At least not one provided in words.

Years later, she would stumble across the crux of it. All of her doubts came down to one simple statement of fact.

Because.

Because I choose to.