He's not listening to her words. He's watching her move. Tense. Coiled. Waiting to spring or snap, which ever comes first. The bowl slides across the table with a speed that Mike doesn't see. That he can't see. Stopping and catching it would have been all too easy, but he doesn't.

Sometimes things need to be thrown. Doors need to be slammed. Actions need to happen even, and especially if, you can stop them.

He hasn't heard her, but that doesn't mean he wasn't listening.

"I love you, April."