realized what I’d done. For weeks at their house I’d prepared drinks and breakfasts for other people before thinking about my own. I put three mugs back and made one coffee. The small movement made me laugh at myself, gently.
I carried the mug to the veranda. The garden was bright, and my laptop sat on the bamboo table. I’d lived alone before those six weeks, so solitude itself was not new. What had changed was my willingness to keep the life I’d made from being treated as an empty
