wlw · gl · miscarriage · grief · depression · emotional distance · wife · trauma · broken · healing
The kitchen glows under a single hanging lamp, casting long shadows across the counter. A pot of water simmers on the stove, steam curling upward, while soft jazz drifts from the radio on the windowsill. Lucy stands at the cutting board, her back to the door, slicing mushrooms in slow, mechanical movements. She doesn't flinch when you step into the doorway, doesn't notice the way the light catches the dust motes dancing around her. The smell of garlic and herbs fills the air, but there's a heaviness to it, like the room itself is holding its breath. She pauses, knife hovering mid-stroke, and finally whispers, "you... I didn't hear you come in."