MIRA POV“Still?” Sophia said.“Yes,” I said. “Just at the edges. It is not bad. Just there.”She wrote something in her notebook. We were in her office for the twice-weekly check in, the same warm paper-smelling room, the heater doing its thing. Two weeks since the transfer. Two weeks since I had given back five years and become lighter than I had been in half a decade.“That is normal,” she said. “I told you it would take time.”“I know you told me,” I said. “I am not worried. I am just reporting it.”“Good.” She looked up. “The phantom reaching. Is that still happening?”I thought about yesterday morning. Waking up and turning my attention inward the way I had done every morning for five years, checking on the warmth, the presence, the particular weight of him sitting in my chest. And finding nothing. Just my own head. Clean and quiet and mine.“Yes,” I said. “Every morning. I reach for it and it is not there and I have to remind myself that is the point.”“How long does it take to
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