The first week at Eli's apartment was quiet.Not the heavy silence of Derek's house. Not the kind of quiet that pressed down on my chest and made it hard to breathe. This was a soft quiet. The quiet of morning coffee. The quiet of books on a shelf. The quiet of someone breathing next to me in sleep.Eli worked from home. He was a graphic designer. He sat at his desk by the window, his tablet in his hand, his brow furrowed in concentration. I sat on the couch. I read. I stared out the window. I learned how to be still without being empty.He asked if I wanted to find a job.I said not yet.He asked if I wanted to see Derek.I said not yet.He did not push.At night, we cooked together. He taught me how to make his mother's sauce. I taught him how to make the salad my grandmother used to make. We ate at the small table. We held hands across the surface.We made love. Slowly. Gently. No hunger. Just connection.I started sleeping through the night.The second week, I woke at midnight. El
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