The next morning, Rose sat at the small kitchen table, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, staring blankly at the coffee in front of her. It had long gone cold, untouched since she poured it. The apartment was silent, save for the soft clinks of dishes as Evelyn moved around the kitchen, her presence a quiet comfort in the heavy stillness.
Rose hadn’t slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, Christian’s voice echoed in her head. The edge in his tone. The way his eyes had looked right through her. And worst of all, the silence that had followed after he walked away. No text. No call. Nothing.
She hadn’t reached out either.
And now, that silence had turned into something unbearable. It wasn’t the kind that came from peace it was the kind that echoed between two people that are too hurt
