It’s been four days since the Wednesday dinner, and I am still not myself.It probably wouldn’t be visible to people that didn’t know me, but for someone like Enzo, it was impossible to hide from him. I could see the effort he put into not pushing for me to share, whatever it was that was making me pull away. I appreciated it, and it was also making everything harder.It was Saturday morning, Enzo was at my apartment because we'd planned to go to the farmers market. We had breakfast.I was present enough to answer questions and pour coffee and perform the basic tasks, but something on my face must have shown exactly the kind of pressure I was putting on myself, because he was looking at me like he was running out of patience. "Elena," he said."Mm.""What did I do?"I turned to look at him.He was holding the dishtowel and looking at me."Nothing," I said."Something is wrong. It's been days, and you're…" he stopped, then continued, "...you're here, but you're not here. And I've bee
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