I look toward the other house instinctively but the windows are still. No movement. No shadows shifting behind glass. No one is standing there watching.
My disappointment is immediate and irrational. I tell myself Ishouldbe grateful they’re not pushing. That this quiet distance is respectful.
Instead, it feels like standing at the edge of something and realising no one is coming to drag you back.
And for some reason, that really hurts.
Fight for me,I want to scream. But of course I don’t. Instead, I carry the food inside. It’s another of my favourite dishes, meaning Finn must be responsible for it because we’ve sharedthe most meals together. I eat half of it sitting at the kitchen table, hoodie sleeves covering my hands.
It tastes right. Familiar. And it makes my chest ache.
Afterwards, I wander aimlessly through the house again. The quiet feels thicker now. The layered scents in my bedroom pull at me like a tether.
I return to the bed without resisting.
I sit there for a long time, staring at the clothes, at the careful folding, at the absence of notes.
They didn’t explain. They didn’t justify. They just…provided what they thought I needed.
The anger has cooled into something more complicated. It doesn’t erase what they did. It doesn’t erase the humiliation. But it doesn’t erase the care either.
That contradiction sits heavy in my chest.
Eventually, I reach for my phone.
My thumb hovers over several names before settling on one.
Aisling.
If anyone can cut through this without sugar-coating it, it’s her.
I stare at the screen for a moment longer.
Then I type.
Are you free?
And hit send.
Aisling doesn’t text back, she calls.
I hesitate for half a second before answering, suddenly unsure whether I want a voice in my ear or not. The house feels fragile around me, as if even sound might crack something I’ve only just managed to hold together.
“Tell me you’re not dying,” she says immediately, no greeting, no softness.
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, thin and brittle. “Not currently.”
“Good. I’m outside.”
I sit upright too quickly, the nest shifting around me. “What?”
The doorbell rings.
I glance at the layered clothes, at Sol’s dark shirt draped over the pillow, at Kai’s hoodie pooled near my hip, and then at the doorway.
“Give me a minute,” I mutter, already moving.
I don’t dismantle the nest. I don’t have time. But Idopull the bedroom door to and pray that she doesn’t go snooping.