The house felt wrong the moment she walked away from me.
Not loud-wrong, not even chaotic-wrong. It was just quiet in a way that cut straight through bone.
Her footsteps up the stairs were soft, but every single one of them landed on my chest like a punch I knew I deserved.
I stood in the foyer long after she disappeared behind the bedroom door, staring at the space she'd just been standing in, replaying the whole argument in my mind.
I hadn't yelled. She hadn't screamed. But somehow it felt like the worst fight we'd had in months. And I caused it.
It was my fault. My choices and my fear kept getting in the way.
I dragged a hand over my face, trying to breathe past the tightness in my ribs. My chest felt too small, like my heart was trying to claw its way out and apologize for me since I clearly didn't know how to do it properly.
I wasn't trying to control her.
I wasn't trying to take anything from her.
I just…
