The next few weeks settled into a rhythm that was, paradoxically, more comfortable than the rhythm that had existed before the disaster. Before, there had been the blissful, unacknowledged crush, the almost-too-perfect domestic echo through the shared wall, the underlying tension of a story that was waiting, coiled, to happen. Now, the story had happened. It was out in the harsh sunlight, acknowledged, and placed gently back on the shelf.The geometry of our shared space became precise.We saw each other, almost exclusively, in the hallway. Our routines, which had once felt like telepathic collaborations, were now subtly adjusted, forming an elegant, unconscious dance of avoidance and intersection.I still got my mail at 4 PM. Todd, however, now tended to get his at 3:30 PM or 4:30 PM. But sometimes, perhaps once or twice a week, the timing would inevitably overlap.One afternoon, I opened the door and found him standing by the cluster of mailboxes, looking at the floor, a single, ord
Last Updated : 2025-12-11 Read more