I heard the water running for a long time, the pipes humming behind the kitchen wall.
When he returned, his wrists were clean, the skin scrubbed pink under the fluorescent light.
We ate our soup in a quiet that felt different from our usual comfortable silence.
Julian spoke only to ask if we needed more bread, his eyes staying fixed on his bowl.
By ten o’clock, the rain had settled into a steady pour, rhythmic and heavy against the bedroom window.The room was dark, save for the blue light of the digital clock on my nightstand showing half past ten.
Julian lay on his side, his back to me, his shoulders rising and falling in the shadow.
Usually, he slept on his back, his arm stretched out so I could rest my head near his shoulder.
I pulled the heavy quilt up to my chin, the flannel sheets feeling unusually cold tonight.
