The ride back from the airport felt like moving through fog. None of us spoke. The hum of the car engine was steady, constant, and yet it only made the silence heavier. I stared out the window, watching the trees blur past, the morning sun climbing higher into the sky as if mocking us with its warmth. Inside the vehicle, though, there was no warmth. Just the hollow ache of absence.
When we pulled into the driveway, everyone scattered like fragments of broken glass. Each of us drifted to our corners of the house, pretending we had something to do, but really just drowning in our own thoughts. I tried not to break, tried not to let my mind replay the image of Klaus walking away from me at the terminal. His broad shoulders, the way he hadn’t looked back—because he couldn’t, because it would
