The last time I saw Eleanor was yesterday. Actually, last night. But it feels like forever.
She takes a step inside, completely oblivious to my presence. The apartment is entirely dark, swallowed by shadows and the heavy silence of the evening. All I know is that in the three hours she was gone, this is the first time I am breathing properly.
Whipped cream and cinnamon invade my nostrils, cutting through the stagnant, cool air of the room, and a long, deep sigh releases from my chest. I envision myself pulling her close. Hugging her. Kissing and touching every single part of her until I am able to fully breathe.
Yet, I remain rooted in place. My whole body feels frozen by the realization that she is right here. In the home I provided for her.
She came back.
That is one of the darkest
