I would've said I felt lighter without the burden, but the truth was there was still a lead weight in my chest—the absence of Khell.

I took a deep breath and lifted my face to the stream of water. Natalie would be right. The ache would pass. My brain chemicals would chill out again soon enough.

Life would go on without Khell.

* * *

That's everything. Thanks for the time.

No hard feelings.

-Harry

Sorry. That was curt. 

I really am wishing you the best, Sonya.

-H

I tapped my finger on Harry's note, left diligently centered on the side table just inside my modest coach house entrance. His key rested at the very top of the note.

I left it there, a faint and melancholy smile on my lips as I stepped into my living room to survey the wreckage. Which, of course, there wasn't any. Harry didn't tear himself out of our home like a tornado. What there was were new small holes in the space, pinpricks, really. A club chair was gone on the far end of the room, along with the small side table between the couch and the bookshelves, my lamp now sitting on the floor without a place to stand.

It was a curious kind of surgery performed on the space, a room I'd documented the arrangement of, developed my social media following with. But what I was looking at wasn't emptiness. It was potential.

It'd been a long time since I'd been able to do more than small projects in my house, and I'd gained my popularity with my initial renovation of the coach house.

I can do it again, I realized, a brightness lighting up inside of me.

It had been a nice two days at Natalie's place, but the whole time, I'd felt a little like I was living encased inside of a thin barrier. That film over the world popped now, and I took a deep, clean breath and then hurried upstairs—these are too narrow for Khell—to my bedroom. The bed's barely big enough for him. I dropped my bag on the floor, picked up my good digital camera, and crossed into the spare bedroom that I'd given up for Harry's home office. It was especially bare now, and I had my first genuine smile in hours at the sight. A blank slate.

A project was always good news. A dozen projects was even better.

I turned on the light, stepped back in the doorway, and snapped a picture. The guest bed was there on my right, in front of the window, only a full because Harry had objected to how much space a queen would take up. The left side of the room was barren, a few dust and scratch marks on the wall from Harry's desk and cords.