The kitchen was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the rhythmic sound of my knife against the cutting board. I was meticulously arranging a bento-style lunch for Eric. Since Fin had started school, the silence in the house had become suffocatingly lonely, pressing against my chest. I needed to do something. I needed to feel useful.
The surprise was meant to be a bridge—a way to cross the sudden chasm that had opened between us.
I still couldn't shake the memory of this morning. I had watched him dress in a charcoal suit, his movements precise and mechanical. It was the first time I’d seen him "suit up" since the funeral, and it sent a jolt of shock through me.
“Where are you heading off to?” I had asked, leaning against the doorframe of the dressing room.
“Work,” he replie
