Maggie felt a few tears sting at her eyelids, and she blinked them away quickly. She briefly flashed back to a time, before they were married, when Steve had told her the same things. He was leaving her, he'd said then. It wasn't that he wanted to settle down with a woman who was content to settle back and let him take the lead; he wanted a woman who wanted an equal partnership, and that meant giving up some things they wanted as individuals. Maggie had told him that she simply couldn't change, and Steve cited that as yet another testament to her stubborn nature. She was too unwilling to compromise, Steve had told her. Everything had to be her way, or not at all.
Of course, then Steve had his accident, and everything changed. He needed her then, and she didn't have to compromise what she wanted. She'd only had to make one small concession, which was giving up flying fighter jets. Other than that, she ran the show. She made sure that she was in control of everything, because she never again wanted to feel that sinking feeling she had felt that day, watching Steve pack his stuff and head out the door. She hated that feeling--of not being able to control the situation. Steve had walked out, and she couldn't just order him back.
And now, here was Quinn, who was a lot like Steve, saying the same things to her. Maggie sat at the table, her face set in a mask of grim determination. She was not going to allow Quinn to make her feel that loss of control again. She'd simply decided to yank that control right out of Quinn's hands and place it right back into her own. She was not going to stand by and watch as Quinn said good-bye and walked out on her, the same way Steve had.
"No way," Maggie said, shoving herself away from the table. "If anyone is walking out, it'll be me walking out on you, Quinn Mallory!"
Maggie got up and tossed the crumpled letter into the trash. She walked back to the table and picked up the timer, her face illuminated by the red digital readout.