It was the silence that hit me hardest—not the empty space in our bed, not the way sunlight poured through the window in the morning and lit up her pillow as if she might still be lying there, not the absence of her perfume lingering in the air or the low hum of her voice from the next room, asking where I’d left her damn phone charger again. No—it was the silence, thick and suffocating, pressing down on me in a way that made every breath feel heavy, a silence broken only by the weight of my own thoughts and the crushing burden of the empire that sat relentlessly on my shoulders.
And yet it wasn’t just the business that felt wrong without her. Everything felt wrong. Food tasted dull, flavorless, like it had been drained of meaning. My clothes, my suits, the very fabric I wore, didn’t feel
