It’s almost dawn, and I’m lying on my bed. I’ve barely slept, waiting for him to return, with a million thoughts running through my brain, tormenting me into oblivion. Thankfully, his phone is here, not smashed, despite hitting a marble floor. At some point, I regained enough sense to wander over and pick his things up, like a mute zombie trying to find something to do besides stare at a closed elevator. I left them on the kitchen counter. I paced like crazy, cried myself sick with ...