Category: Author’s Alley
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In the Garden

He wasn’t a garden person. He’d said so, clearly, at the beginning: *I can keep a cactus alive. That’s my upper limit.* He was someone who lived in his head, who found the pace of growing things disorienting, who could not tell a weed from a herb. And yet. Sylvie looked up from where she…
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The 2a.m. Rule

They had a rule. It had formed without discussion, the way most real rules do, through repeated practice until it became law. The rule was: you could wake the other person up for the important ones. Not anxieties, exactly — not the three AM spirals that you had to learn to ride out yourself. But…
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The Photograph
She found it while looking for something else. A photograph, tucked into the back of his bedside drawer, printed and creased at one corner. The two of them at a friend’s wedding, years ago — before the apartment, before they’d said those words, before they were *this*. They were standing slightly apart in the way…



