By the time I get home, my feet hurt in that dull, quiet way that feels older than my body. Like exhaustion that’s lived in me for years and is only now stretching out. I kick off my shoes by the door and they land wrong, one on its side, one upright. I leave them there.
I don’t turn on the lights immediately. I just stand in the hallway, keys still in my hand, breathing like I forgot how earlier and I’m trying to remember now.
I think, maybe tomorrow will be softer.
I don’t fully believe it, but I think it anyway.
My phone vibrates.
I almost ignore it. I’m good at that now. At pretending the world isn’t tapping me on the shoulder, asking me to look.
But I look.
Luca: We need to talk. It’s urgent.
My chest tightens in that familiar way. Not panic exactly. More like anticipation tha
