The apartment greeted Freya with a silence that felt deafening. The soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards under her weight were the only companions in this space that once resonated with warmth and shared laughter. She hesitated at the doorway, a threshold between the external world and the echoes of her past.
As she stepped inside, the door closed behind her with a muffled thud, sealing off the outside world. The solitude within enveloped her, and for a moment, she stood in the middle of the living room, feeling the air heavy with memories. The pictures on the walls, the worn-out couch where they had shared secrets, the very air she breathed—all held traces of a time when Marshall's presence was woven into the fabric of her everyday life.
The absence o
