The early morning light was just starting to filter through the blinds as I sat at the kitchen table, a mug of lukewarm coffee before me. The house was quiet, save for the low hum of the fridge and the distant sound of traffic. I glanced at the calendar on the wall. It was Wednesday, though it felt like any other day in a long stretch of sameness.
Scrolling through my phone, I shook my head at a string of silly texts from my brother. His jokes were the kind only he found funny, yet they always managed to make me smile. Today, though, there was an underlying strain I couldn’t shake.
The house still felt empty since my parents moved out months ago. Mom left behind a lot, not wanting to deal with it. Dad returned to his routines, leaving me to clear out the boxes. Among them, I found old photo albums and letters that made me pause.
My phone buzzed, another message from my brother. “Got called in again. Boss says it’s fine but feels off.” I hesitated, then typed back, “Hang in there.” The words felt hollow.
Later, at work, my manager asked if I could cover extra hours for a sick colleague. I nodded, knowing our department was stretched thin. When I returned home, the silence was louder. Mom’s old cat had disappeared, leaving an empty feeling.
A letter from the landlord had arrived earlier in the week, mentioning rent adjustments. The formal language hinted at changes, but I hesitated to call my parents. Their voicemail greeted me as I stared at the silent receiver, caught between what I needed to do and what I wanted to avoid.
Days passed with the same mix of minor absurdities and quiet tensions. My brother’s texts remained sporadic and brief, our conversations walking a fine line between lightness and something heavier. The room felt too empty with my parents gone, and my role in the space felt undefined.
One morning, the cat returned, scruffy and silent, slipping through the door like nothing had changed. A small relief, a funny moment in the quiet routine. But even then, I noticed how the cat’s eyes were distant, like it had seen things beyond the house and wasn’t quite ready to settle back in.
The days continued, each folding into the next, with the same mix of minor absurdities and quiet tensions. The threads pulled tight, and I was left holding on, unsure of what was coming next or how much longer things could stay this way.
