You know, I thought when Val went back this time, I'd feel empty again, like the first time she left. That quiet kind of emptiness that creeps into the corners of my apartment, where her laugh used to echo. I thought I'd feel that same ache in my chest when I rolled over in bed and reached for her, only to find cold sheets.
But I didn't. Not this time.
I actually felt… calm. Maybe even content.
Maybe it's because she made sure I wouldn't have room to miss her, not completely. Not with all the little memories she left scattered everywhere: She'd gone full "perfect wife" mode before she left, waking up earlier than she normally would, padding around the kitchen in my shirt and her messy morning hair just to make me breakfast. Pancakes one morning, omelet the next. Coffee exactly the way I like it. She'd hum while cooking, sometimes stopping to look over her shoulder at me, pretending to scold me for watching instead of getting ready.
