As she waited for her bedroom sheets to finish washing, she contemplated what she had just done. She loved her boyfriend–it was evident from the vacant expression on her face.
There was a mournful air that asphyxiated the room as I dressed.
"Same time tomorrow?", I asked.
"Please," she replied.
I smiled, and made my way out the back door into the anonymity of the night.
As I turned the ignition key in my car, I could see her from across the street sitting in the living room, staring at some pictures on the wall as the washing machine tumbled.