I waited for you for two days before I understood you were not coming home early. I waited through the third day because I told myself you must have been delayed, busy, overwhelmed, anything other than the truth my heart already knew.
On the fourth day, I stopped waiting.
Not because I stopped loving you.
Because I finally understood that loving you had become a place where I disappeared.
I closed my eyes.
The house was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator.
“She wrote that when?” I asked.
“Keep reading,” Daniel said.
I looked back down.
You left my medication where I could see it but not always reach it. You left food in the refrigerator I could not safely prepare. You left your promises scattered around this house like old receipts.
For the first day, I was angry.
For the second, I was afraid.
