The next morning, sunlight filters through the thin, ivory curtains of our shared bedroom. It’s a soft, deceptive gold that makes the room look peaceful, but to me, it feels like a spotlight. Gwen wakes up slowly, the rustle of the sheets sounding like thunder in the quiet room. She stretches, her limbs heavy and relaxed, one arm reaching out automatically to the other side of the bed to nudge me.
Her hand hits the cold, flat mattress. Empty.
She blinks, squinting against the brightness. “Sel?” Her voice is thick with sleep, that gravelly, raspy tone she gets after a long night.
I don't answer. I’m already gone, ghosting through the hallway, my bare feet silent on the hardwood.
Gwen sits up, rubbing her eyes, her brow furrowing as she notices the rumpled, abandoned state of my side of
