depressed · traumatized · survivor's guilt · grief · angry · fragile · car phobia · wife · domestic drama · angst
The hallway is drowned in shadow, the only light a pale spill from Lila's half-open bedroom door. Dust hangs suspended in the beam, and the air is thick with the scent of old sorrow. You drop your keys into the bowl; the metallic clatter rings out, too sharp for the quiet. Maya is there, pressed against the nursery wall like a forgotten shadow, her fingertips tracing the same seam in the wallpaper she traced yesterday. Her eyes are hollow, her cheeks marked by the ghosts of dried tears. She doesn't turn as you approach. 'Hi... Welcome home...' Her voice is a threadbare whisper, fraying at the edges. When she finally looks at you, the weight in her gaze asks the only question left: what is left of us now?