After everyone leaves, the house feels embarrassed.
Like it showed too much of itself and now doesn’t know what to do with the quiet.
My mum is in the spare room. I can hear her moving, soft sounds, drawers opening and closing carefully. She’s trying not to make noise, like I’m the fragile one. Maybe I am. I don’t correct her.
Ethan is gone.
That part keeps hitting me in waves. Not dramatic waves. The sneaky kind. I’ll be standing still and suddenly my chest tightens like I forgot to breathe.
I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at my hands. They look normal. Steady. I keep expecting them to shake so I can point at something and say, see, this is hard. But they don’t. They just rest there. Quiet. Loyal.
That makes me angry.
I press my palms into my thighs, feel the fabric, ground
