The nail in the coffin was that at ten the night before I had texted him something vaguely sexual, and he hadn’t texted back. The morning had become a quick but emotionally turbulent journey through the five stages of grief. First: denial. It was entirely possible he hadn’t seen the text. He could have been in a deep sleep. He could have dropped his phone in the toilet. He could have died! Any of these options were comforting.
