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Sunday arrived quietly, as if it were uncertain whether it was welcome in the house. Their routine had settled into something mechanical, almost rehearsed. Calvin’s alarm rang at 6:00 a.m. sharp every weekday. By 6:30, he was gone — dressed, composed, efficient. The door would close with a soft click that echoed longer than it should have. He returned at exactly 6:00 p.m. Not for her. For twenty minutes. He would step inside, loosen his tie, change his clothes, scroll through his phone with an expression that never shifted, then leave again. No explanations offered. No questions asked. Sometimes she wondered where he went. Most times she did not ask. He returned late in the night, when exhaustion had already claimed her or when she pretended it had. Maya remained home. Her health h
- Writer
