Zoe left mid-morning.
She pulled on yesterday’s skirt and a clean top from the drawer Lucas had cleared for her, kissed both of them once, and walked the short path across the lawn to 214. The door closed behind her with a soft, ordinary click. Her house smelled the same as always—detergent, lemon cleaner, the faint green scent of the plants on the sill.
She moved through the motions.
Opened the windows to let the air in. Checked the mail (two bills, a grocery flyer). Watered the plants one by one, watching the soil darken. Wiped the already-clean kitchen counters. Started a load of laundry. The ordinary rhythm of her own life felt thin after the weight of their hands and the sound of the locked (or unlocked) door.
She was folding the warm towels on her bed when she glanced out the fro
