Grace
The new vocabulary between us had exactly four words.
Morning. Good night. Thanks. Okay.
Three days after the living room, three days after I'd stood with that faded yellow sticky note in my hand and watched his silence be every answer I'd been looking for, and this was what was left: four words and the kind of choreographed politeness that takes real effort to maintain in a house this small.
We still shared the kitchen. He still made dinner, same as always—set a plate on the counter without asking whether I wanted it and moved out of the way, because that was how Mason operated, had always operated, doing the thing without being asked and then not saying anything about having done it.
I ate the food because it was there and because I was hungry and because I hadn't figured out
