Consolation Prize

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I waited for him at that same coffee table every day, and pictured all of the things I’d say to him. “Were you expecting me?” … “fancy seeing you here,” or, “Yes. I’m alive.”

I knew he’d be growing more relaxed at my absence, thinking he’d finally gotten rid of me, and for good. He didn’t, and each day I anticipated his visit to his favourite coffee shop, where I hid in plain sight and patiently bided my time.


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