When he called me later, his voice was steady.
“They’re gone, Mary. The house is quiet again. Come home—if you still want to.”
So I agreed to visit.
The Return
When I walked into our apartment again, it felt… different.
The air was clean. The dishes were done.
And on the dining table was a slightly burned roast chicken, candles flickering beside it.
Daniel stood there awkwardly, holding two plates, a sheepish grin on his face.
“I cooked,” he said. “Don’t ask how it tastes.”
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