Declan erased himself from the house in three days.
The gray T-shirt disappeared from the back of the chair. The sneakers he used to leave by the door vanished. Even the chipped mug stopped appearing in the sink.
Only his footsteps remained, crossing the floor above my ceiling after I had already gone to bed. I left before he came down for breakfast.
He returned from the training center after I had shut myself in my room.
We crossed paths just enough to prove we were both trying not to. After the pool, not even good night survived.
On the fourth morning, I found a note beside the sugar bowl in Declan’s angular handwriting.
THE GARAGE KEY STICKS. PUSH BEFORE YOU TURN.
Nothing else. No name. No hello. I folded it in half and slipped it into my coat pocket before asking myself why I ha
