It had been over a month since I left.
Long enough for people to stop asking if I was okay. Long enough for the worst of the pain to dull into something quieter. It didn't stab anymore—it just pressed. A constant, weighted kind of ache that lived beneath everything. Liz's parents hadn't asked when I planned to move out, and I hadn't found the courage to bring it up either. Sharing Liz's room had been a strange kind of refuge. Still temporary, still not mine, but safe in a way I wasn't ready to give up yet.
I counted time in coffee mugs and commutes now. In lunches packed the night before and alarm clocks set early enough to let me walk to the Northwood branch instead of taking the train or the bus.
