DOMINIC
We drove home mostly in silence.
Not the hostile silence. Not the managed politeness of the two days after the worst fight. Something more compressed — two people carrying the same large weight in a small space and not yet knowing what to do with it.
I drove. Elena looked at the road ahead. The city went past.
At a red light she said: "How are you?"
"I don't know yet," I said.
"That's honest."
"Yes."
The light changed.
At home we took off our coats and went to the kitchen in the automatic way. I put the kettle on. She stood at the counter and didn't reorganise anything, which told me something.
"She faked it," I said.
"She managed it," Elena said. "There's a difference."
"Elena—"
"She had a real condition," Elena said. "She made it sound more urgent than it was. That's
