In February 2021, I tested positive for COVID-19, and my husband thankfully didn’t. We split up our apartment. I took the bedroom, he got the living room.
I saw him, white masks on, when I went to the kitchen to refill my water pitcher. Or when I grabbed my plate of food from the TV stand near my door.
We talked over Zoom through lunch and dinner. During our calls, I talked about contamination. “My mask fell off for a second in the bathroom,” I said to his Zoom square. “Wait a while before going in.” “Sure,” he said. “I can wait a couple of hours.” Usually, I try not to sleep alone.Read more on themighty.com