The next morning, Nathan was already in the kitchen when I came downstairs.
He stood beside the coffee machine with a mug in his hand. When he heard my footsteps, he turned and looked at me, briefly, as if only checking who had come in.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning.”
After that one word, the kitchen settled back into silence. I did not walk over the way I used to, and I did not ask if he wanted anything for breakfast. I only took a glass from the cabinet and poured myself some water. When the bottom of the glass touched the counter, I realized I was not actually thirsty.
Nathan did not speak. He did not come closer, either. The island stood between us, and the distance was exactly right, so right that it almost made it seem as if nothing had happened.
At breakfast, Cindy said it migh
