The apartment started to feel like a museum where nobody lived anymore. Ella got used to the quiet in a way that scared her. She woke up, made coffee for one, drank it standing at the kitchen island while she scrolled through emails or stared at nothing. The second mug stayed in the cupboard. She stopped setting out plates for two. Stopped cooking extra. Stopped listening for the sound of his key in the lock.
He didn’t come home every night.
The first time it happened she waited until 2 a.m., sitting on the couch with the TV on low, some cooking show she wasn’t watching. When the clock hit 3:00 and the door still hadn’t opened, she turned the TV off, went to her room, and locked the door. She didn’t cry. She just lay there in the dark, listening to the building breathe—pipes ticking, dis
