We Have a Don't Ask Don't Tell Rule
Open in practice, closed in conversation. He has his nights. I have mine. The rule is we never describe the room we leave.
Not on paper. In practice.
He has Thursday. I have Saturday.
The rule: don't ask, don't tell, don't leave evidence.
It works until it doesn't—until I smell perfume that isn't mine on his coat and realize I have no right to ask.
I smell like someone else's cologne too.
We're polite. We're parents. We're roommates with secrets.
Sometimes I want one honest Sunday. Sometimes I want Saturday to stop.
We keep going because the alternative is splitting a house we can barely afford and explaining to kids who still believe in simple love.
Don't ask don't tell is a truce, not peace.
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