He came back on a Tuesday.
He did not make it ceremonial. He brought a bag, said hello, asked if I had eaten, and when I said yes he made himself a sandwich and sat at the kitchen table and asked me about my day. It was ordinary in a way I had not expected, and ordinary felt like exactly the right register.
We did not sleep in the same bed the first night. I was not ready for that and he did not push for it. He slept in the guest room and in the morning I woke up and he had made coffee and left a cup on the counter without being asked.
Small things. That was what the next several weeks were made of. Him showing up. Me noticing. Both of us being careful without being afraid.
He went to therapy every Tuesday. He came home and sometimes he told me what they had talked about and sometimes
