The apartment felt wrong after they left.
Not quiet. Not peaceful. Wrong.
The door had barely closed when the silence pressed down like weight on the chest, heavy and unrelenting. It was the kind of silence that followed shouting, the kind that rang louder than voices ever could. Even the kittens seemed to sense it. Mimi and Miso hovered close to the wall, their earlier curiosity replaced by uneasy stillness, tails flicking cautiously as if afraid to move.
Ayla sat on the floor where she had fallen, her injured palm was held by Silas, her shoulders hunched inward as though she were trying to fold herself smaller, disappear into the space she no longer felt she deserved to occupy. Her breathing came unevenly, sharp inhales followed by shallow, broken exhales. She stared at the floor without really seeing it.
Silas remained kneeling in front of her.
He had not moved since his parents left.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Ayla's lips trembled.
