Alexander didn’t announce his decision.
That was how I knew it wasn’t calculated.
He lingered in the living room long after evening settled, the television on but muted, the light casting shadows that made him look older, less certain. I could feel his attention stretching toward the hallway, toward me, as if proximity alone might still mean something.
I passed through once to retrieve a folder near the window. He looked up immediately.
“You’re going to bed?” he asked.
“Yes.”
His gaze lingered a fraction too long, tracking the line of my movement rather than the answer itself.
“I might stay up,” he said.
“Of course.”
The word landed cleanly, but something tightened behind my ribs. Not longing, recognition. Of how easily this moment could tip if either of us let it.
I didn’t.
In
