“You sleeping over?”
“Want my bed — I mean your bed? Or …” My husband — er, estranged husband — stops mid-sentence as he realizes that his bed is our old king-sized bed which I have been sleeping on since he moved to his mom’s but is now his again because it doesn’t fit into the tiny home I’ve rented. We exchange amused looks. Dusk is descending, violet shadows swiftly overtaking the backyard of his new house, his first home without me after a decade of marriage.