The following week, he complained about my nighttime bathroom trips.
A few days later, he began sleeping closer to the edge of the mattress.
Then came the pillows.
Then the sighing.
Then the first night he told me to sleep on the sofa.
I did.
The next night, he told me the sofa was too close to the bedroom and he could still hear me moving around.
I slept in the living room with the television turned off and a blanket pulled over my head.
Two nights later, he told me to go back to bed.
I thought the worst had passed.
Then, on a Thursday night, he sent me to the car.
By the following week, it had become a routine.
At nine thirty each evening, I would prepare my things.
At ten, I would go downstairs.
At six thirty in the morning, Ryan would text me that I could return.
