Six Days Later Sunday By Sunday morning, Anita had stopped pretending she wasn’t counting down the hours. Over the past eight days, she and Andrew had slipped into a routine with surprising ease. What began as cautious messages on DomFound quickly became phone numbers exchanged, then morning greetings, then late-night conversations that stretched far longer than either of them intended. Andrew was usually the first person Anita heard from when she woke. Anita was often the last person Andrew spoke to before bed. Some mornings, his message was simple. Good morning, beautiful. Other times, he sent something teasing enough to make Anita stare at her phone with narrowed eyes while smiling anyway. At night, they talked about their days. Anita told him about physical therapy, her parents, the strange things she found online, and whatever random thought had decided to occupy her mind that afternoon. Andrew told her less. Not because he refused to answer questions. He simply had
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