The deadbolt stayed unlocked.
Not a decision. An absence. I stopped locking it the night after the court ruling and didn't notice until the third morning when I walked down the hallway and the key was still on the nightstand where it had been since the first night at forty-two stories. The key that represented the distance. The key that said my space, his space, the line between us is mine to draw.
The line was still mine. I'd just stopped drawing it.
