The slam of Alex’s bedroom door echoed through the penthouse like a gunshot.
Ella stood frozen in the kitchen, arms wrapped around herself, tears still wet on her cheeks. The soup she'd been making sat untouched on the stove, steam long gone. The air felt thick, heavy with everything they’d just said—and everything they hadn’t.
She waited.
Waited for him to come back out. To yell some more. To apologize. To do anything.
He didn’t.
The silence stretched. Minutes. Then an hour.
She turned off the stove. Dumped the soup in the sink. Washed the pot. Dried her hands on a towel that felt too rough against her skin.
Then she walked to her room.
Closed the door.
Locked it.
She sat on the edge of the bed, knees to chest, rocking slightly like she used to when she was little and the world
