Alone in the Silence
I stood in the garden after the funeral, the world around me strangely quiet. Guests had left, folding chairs still open, half-full cups on tables, the scent of cut lilies lingering in the air. It was perfect, polished, orchestrated to the last detail—Rebecca had arranged everything. Flowers, slideshow, even the coffee cups. But no one had asked if I needed a ride home. Not even her.
That night, I sat alone in the kitchen with a lukewarm cup of tea. The house felt different now—empty, despite all the familiar things still in place. Patrick’s aftershave lingered in the hallway. His books lay untouched. But somehow, my presence seemed erased, my place in our life together quietly denied.
The Cold Invitation
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