(Matthew’s Point of View)
The night after the café felt too quiet.
Esther lay beside me, her back turned, her breathing slow but uneven. She wasn’t asleep. I knew that the same way I knew when she was holding back tears. There was a tightness in her body, a stillness that came from thinking too much. The kind of thinking that ran in circles, caught in loops of unanswered questions.
I watched her for a long time. Her silhouette was framed by the dim light coming from the c***k in the blinds. The way her body tensed with every inhale, how her hands fidgeted slightly under the covers—it was all a sign. She wasn’t okay. And it scared me more than I was willing to admit.
I turned my head, staring at the ceiling. The room felt like it was closing in on me. The folder from earlier sat on the
