Harper. He pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine, turning to face me fully now, “Harper baby, I know it’s hard, I see it, that’s why I hover, I want to make it easier, you hungry? Pasta’s ready, and I got that ginger tea you like for the nausea.” I get out of the car without waiting for him to open my door this time, slamming it again, “I’m not hungry Elias I ate a sad vending machine sandwich earlier and right now my stomach is doing flips so can we just drop the perfect husband act for five minutes and let me breathe?” He follows me inside, bag over his shoulder like always, setting it down careful on the counter, “Okay okay, breathing room granted, but sit down at least, tell me about the classes, the professor, anything good happen besides the invisible middle school dude?” I drop onto the couch and kick my shoes off, rubbing my temples because the headache is starting on top of everything else, and I mutter “Classes were whatever, orientation dragged, professor said we’re
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