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I stared up into the dark.

"Are you accusing me of something, Elliot?"

"You can explain." His voice came out clipped. Stuck.

"He's an acquaintance. I hit his car. He gave me a ride home. That's it."

I turned over and went back to pretending to sleep.

Elliot lay still for a long time. Then: "I believe you." Dull, flat. And then he reached for me again, mouth brushing my ear.

"Hey."

"I'm tired." I moved away.

"It's been a while—"

I put more distance between us.

He didn't finish the sentence. He lay back.

I kept my eyes closed and thought about how, three months ago, I'd stopped being able to touch him. The moment I knew — I couldn't. Every time it crossed my mind, something crawled up from my stomach that I didn't have a name for.

Two-thirty in the morning. Elliot was deeply asleep.

I slipped out of bed, picked up his phone, and opened the messages.

Natasha's thread was buried in a folder. I tapped it.

Unread messages.

Something came up at home. Won't be at lessons for a few days. In a terrible mood.

Thinking about you.

Did you catch her? Was that her car?

If she's actually been following us, doesn't that disgust you?

I stared at those two words — thinking about you — until my eyes burned.

That was it. Everything else had been deleted. Payments too — nothing in the transaction history. Elliot was meticulous.

I put the phone back. The body next to me reached out in sleep, found nothing, didn't wake.

I went to the balcony. Pulled a blanket around my shoulders. Stood with my arms crossed, looking up at a sky with no stars. The loneliness was a physical thing — heavier than I'd felt before.

I thought about the first year we lived here. My birthday. The balcony filled with flowers at different heights, him coming through the door holding a cake, candlelight catching in his eyes.

Vivian. I love you.

When had it broken? How? There'd been no warning. Not even a flicker.

I closed my eyes. Pressed back the tears. And turned around.

Elliot was standing at the door. Still. Quiet. I didn't know how long he'd been there.

"Can't sleep. Who are you thinking about?"

The person I had loved — the real one — had died without a sound. What stood in the doorway was something else wearing his face.

"You," I said. "Believe me if you want."

He laughed once, at himself.

We passed each other without speaking.