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.
All fields marked with red asterisks are required fields.