Three days passed and Damian said very little.
He was present in the physical sense. He came home each evening. He sat across from her at dinner. He answered when she spoke and initiated conversation occasionally about neutral things, the weather, the news, a development at one of his hotels. He was not unkind. He was not cold in the way he had been in those early weeks before the storm.
But he was somewhere else.
She could feel it. The particular quality of his absence even when he was in the room. Like a man who had packed a bag and not yet decided whether to leave but was keeping the bag near the door just in case.
She gave him space.
She was good at giving space when it was needed. She had learned it the hard way over the years, the knowledge that some things needed room to breath
