Ethan’s mother doesn’t knock.
She presses the bell like she’s afraid it might run away from her. I feel it in my chest before I hear it again. That familiar tightening. Like my body already knows this visit is going to cost me something.
My mum looks at me. Her face is calm, steady, like she’s anchoring herself on purpose. I nod. Once. That’s all I have.
When the door opens, Ethan’s mother steps in as if the house belongs to her memory of us. Not to me. Not to the quiet I built here. Her eyes move fast. Too fast. Counting things. Judging the silence. Measuring whether I look fragile enough to bend.
“Oh, Solene,” she says, her voice soft and heavy at the same time. “Look at you.”
I hate that sentence. I’ve always hated it. It sounds like pity dressed up as concern.
“I heard what you’r
