The late afternoon sun casts a long thin band of light across the bedroom wall. For a full minute she watches it carefully, trying to detect its movement but cannot except to see that it has moved, has changed — that is, its relationship to the rest of the room has changed.

She takes one last look at all his possessions that have become so familiar to her that to really notice them now makes them new again. She ponders her reflection in the mirror wondering how much she has changed since she first entered this room.

Leaving the apartment with no more than she brought with her several years ago she locks the door and slips her key underneath it.

As the sun drops beneath the windowsill the light snaps back upon itself and disappears. Below, she emerges onto the street in the dusk and steps into a waiting taxi.

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