One of the perks of quarantine: eventually, even the most closed-off people crack. Holly, the mysterious roommate I’d only seen briefly in the kitchen, finally spoke.
It was the third morning of my stay. I was sipping a bitter black coffee at 4:30 a.m. in the shared kitchen, my mind still tethered to New York time which unfortunately made the days feel long. Holly had already met with her therapist the night before, but we hadn’t exchanged a word until now.
I walked outside for a short workout, then showered and got dressed for the day. As I stepped out to breathe in the ocean air, I spotted her on the grass, knees pulled to her chest, face buried, sobbing.
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