She had not wanted him to see her sadness, which was so ugly and so old. Grief wasn’t linear, she knew, but she hated to feel the old sensations return. She felt sluggish, low, in a way that she had not since living in London. She’d considered going back on her antidepressants, but she still hoped it would pass. And she was mostly doing a good job of hiding it. She washed her hair and ate dessert and tried to laugh when everyone else laughed.
