Mystery Ships

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When he gets up to go to the toilet in the middle of the night, she’d be there or on the way back to his room after pausing in the kitchen for a glass of milk, she’d be in the hallway.

Passing ships in the night.

He’d look at her, and she at him, then both look away.

After eight years, off and on, they were still a mystery to each other.

Her cat. Not his. They’d never bonded.

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