Our apartment carried the quiet evidence of that life everywhere I looked.
Coffee mugs lined up in the cabinet.
His hoodies folded beside mine.
Vacation photos hanging slightly crooked above the couch.
A shared toothbrush cup by the sink
At thirty, I thought I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
I thought my future had a name.
Luke.
We met in college during a literature class neither of us wanted to take. At first, we were just friends, the kind who studied late, complained about assigned reading, and split cheap pizza because neither of us had much money.
