I had not been back to my apartment in seven weeks.
Not for any particular reason. There had simply always been something more immediate. Something in the house that needed attention or a Helena who needed company or a day that filled itself up before I remembered that somewhere across the city there was a small room with my name on the lease and a view of the building next door.
I thought about it on a Wednesday morning.
Damien had meetings in the city. Back to back ones, the kind that ran from nine in the morning until the evening, which meant he would leave early and return late and the day would belong to itself in the way days sometimes did when the house settled into its own rhythm without him in it.
Helena was having a good week. The doctor had come on Monday and the report had
