There was no single moment.

Maybe it happened when he called to tell me he’d seen a story in the paper I would enjoy.

Maybe when I learned how he took his coffee, or when he noticed I was worried about work before I admitted it.

“I think it happened gradually,” I said.

“The way a path forms across grass.

One person walks it, then again, then again, until you realize there’s a way between two houses that wasn’t there before.”

Maya looked toward the window.