The morning sun filtered through gauzy curtains, casting golden lines across the hardwood floor. Bill Clark stood in the middle of Emma’s living room, surrounded by neatly packed boxes and a suitcase with one wheel that squeaked every time it moved. His coffee sat untouched on the counter, slowly going cold. The silence between him and Emma was louder than anything else in the room.
He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, his expression unreadable. Bill knew he was trying to act indifferent, but the slight tremor in his jaw betrayed his restraint.
“So,” he said finally, his voice too light to be casual, “you’re really going through with it.”
Bill adjusted the strap on his duffel bag, not meeting his eyes. “Yeah. It’s time.”
Emma let out a dry laugh, brushing a strand of hair be
