Chapter 14

The light outside Eileen’s window was a flat, pale gray—the kind that made everything feel heavy. Rain hadn’t started yet, but it hovered in the air, a damp tension that clung to the skin. The apartment was still, tuned with the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the occasional groan of old pipes expanding in the walls.

Eileen stood in the kitchen, barefoot, a steaming mug of herbal tea cradled in her hands. The warmth barely seeped into her fingers. She stared blankly out the window above the sink, watching how the clouds drifted slowly across the sky like they were lost in thought.

A note sat propped against the sugar jar, written in Alfred’s familiar handwriting:

Had to leave early. Long shift. Call if you need me. Love you.

She smiled faintly but it didn’t reach her eyes.