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... hat should feel like coming home but instead settles against my skin like something waiting. The light is dim and warm, the familiar shadows of his living room stretching across the floor, touching the edges of the couch where I sit, watching him.
Deniz has been strange since we left the hospital.
In the car, he was distant. His questions came clipped, his answers shorter than they should have been. He held my hand, but his grip was loose, his thumb resting still against my skin ...
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