Her apartment was small. Quiet. Heavy with a kind of stillness I recognized but couldn’t name at first.
The first thing I noticed was the smell. Clean, but sharp. Then the pill bottles. Dozens of them, lined up neatly beside the bed.
My husband.
Or what was left of the man I once knew.
The confident, strong presence I remembered was gone. He looked thin. Pale. Fragile in a way that startled me. When our eyes met, something passed between us that didn’t need words.
Regret.
Years of it.
My sister stood beside me, hands shaking.
