I woke without the familiar tightening in my chest, the reflexive need to prepare answers to questions that hadn’t been asked yet, to soften truths before they became inconvenient. There was no urgency, no internal rehearsal of conversations I might be forced into later.
Just stillness.
Alexander was already gone. His side of the bed was untouched, sheets smooth, as if he had exited carefully, unwilling to disturb anything, including the illusion that we were still intact.
A note waited on the nightstand.
Early meeting. Back later.
No apology. No question. No acknowledgment of the distance now living between us.
I folded the note and placed it back where it had been. It didn’t deserve more attention than that.
In the kitchen, I moved through my routine without awareness of being obs
