I used to believe silence was comforting.
Silence signified control, order, and structure. It meant I wasn't being overwhelmed by emotions I didn't ask for or memories I didn't want. Silence represented power.
But now… the silence between Ethan and me feels like punishment.
It screams.
It echoes.
It presses against me like a weight I can’t shift, no matter how deeply I bury myself in work.
For the past three days, we've spoken only when necessary:
“Good morning.”
“Your schedule.”
“We're here.”
“Thank you.”
Cold. Mechanical. Polite.
Exactly the kind of exchanges I should prefer.
Except I don’t. Not anymore.
Because every time he opens the car door for me without looking at me…
Every time he keeps his voice steady while mine wants to c***k…
Every time I catch
