Scarlet
The night was quiet when we got home.
Too quiet.
No crickets. No rustling leaves. Not even the creak of old wood in the walls. Just the click of the front door as it closed behind us and the heavy silence that followed me like a second shadow.
My mother helped me upstairs, her touch light but her eyes flickering with every step I took—as if I’d collapse again at any moment.
“I’ll make you tea,” she said softly, pausing at the threshold of my room.
I only nodded.
No words came. None felt right.
I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me, and leaned against it for a moment, letting the weight of everything press against my chest. The room was the same. My books on the shelf. The sweater I’d forgotten to fold still tossed over the chair. The curtains fluttered slightly from
