She answered logistics — practice schedules, grocery lists, bills — but the warmth disappeared. The spontaneous laughter. The hand brushing my back as she passed me in the hallway.
At night, she faced the wall, her body a quiet barrier I didn’t know how to cross.
I told myself she was overreacting.
I told myself I was being realistic.
Two weeks later, a large box arrived on the porch with her name written neatly across the top.
