“I’ve made you breakfast,” he said at the bottom of the stairs, “and coffee.” He was holding a bowl of porridge and her usual mug, face haggard, dressing gown loose. Piglet looked at the bowl and was not moved by the banana neatly chopped, the honey carefully swirled. She found she didn’t have a single word to say to him. He stood there as she pulled on her trainers, the coffee cooling. She picked up her bag and rolled her tongue up to the roof of her mouth as she unlocked the door. “I love you,” he said. She closed the door behind her.
