Lydia was still crying at the stairs. The soft carpet beneath her knees had already grown damp from her tears, but she did not notice it. She sat curled into herself, one hand gripping the banister as if holding onto it would stop her from falling apart. She knew Ivan had long gone. She had heard the sound of his heavy steps fade into silence, the echo of the doors closing behind him. The moment she realized he was truly gone, something inside her cracked even deeper.
The pain only grew worse. Her chest ached as though someone had pressed a stone upon her heart, refusing to let it breathe. She kept whispering to herself to stop, to gather her strength, to not cry anymore. But the tears refused to listen. They slid down her cheeks without mercy, hot and endless, burning her skin like fire.
