Two cities apart, his daily videos of the cat were the only thing keeping us close. Then one of them showed me something he hadn't meant to film.

For two years he sent me photos of his lecture halls and his exam stress. Then a blown transformer asked one question his story couldn't survive.

She tilted her phone away every time I walked in. Then, from two thousand miles away, she sent the text that explained everything.

I cut my sleep in half for two years so I'd always be awake for her mornings. She used every hour I was asleep to build a life I wasn't in.

He swore he slept through the whole afternoon. His fitness tracker told a different story, minute by minute, while I made us dinner downstairs.

The reflection in the TV screen showed a woman tying her shoes at the foot of his bed.