For a long time, my world revolved around Sarah, our only child—my reason to get out of bed. Holidays, birthdays, traditions—they all faded while I quietly sank under words I never learned to say out loud.
When Sarah moved overseas for work, I told her I was proud, and I was. But as soon as the door clicked shut, silence swallowed the house. Even the walls seemed to stretch the emptiness wider.
That Thanksgiving morning, the house felt wrong—too polished, too still, as if it was waiting for something that would never come. I made coffee out of habit, hearing Marla’s voice in my mind: Stick to a routine. It’ll help you get your feet back under you.
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