Voices of Comfort

"Why am I here?" Susan thought, finding herself standing outside her house, staring at the door.

"It's okay, go inside. You were taking a stroll," said a voice—soft, familiar—but no one was around.

"Jose? Okay... I'm tired anyway. I'll just go back to sleep," she muttered, a strange calm settling over her.

Susan went inside without a second glance, her feet guiding her to the bed as if on autopilot. She collapsed onto the mattress, her exhaustion too heavy to resist. But no sooner had her eyes shut than she felt it—her hand pressing against something. No, someone.

Not touching—forcing.

"What's going on?" Her mind stirred, caught in a haze, trapped between wakefulness and dream. It felt like her body was moving, but not by her own will. Or maybe someone else was moving her.

And then—everything stilled. The sensation vanished as if it had never happened. A blanket of normalcy wrapped around her, comforting and familiar, and she slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Susan stirred as sunlight filtered through the window. She stretched lazily, her mind free from any lingering unease.

"What time is it? Hmm, I wonder if they're awake," she mumbled, sitting up and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She felt well-rested, with no trace of the strange events from the night before.

Rising from her bed, Susan made her way to the kitchen. As she passed by a framed photo of her mother on the counter, she paused.

"Good morning, Mom," she said softly, a small smile on her lips.

She continued into the hall, where another photo hung on the wall—her father this time. She stopped again, as if by instinct.

"Good morning, Dad." Her voice was warm but casual, part of her daily routine, as familiar as breathing.

She moved toward the bathroom, her thoughts drifting lazily when a strange habit took over.

"I have to freshen up; can you make me something to eat?" she called out as if expecting a response.

But then—silence. She froze, a shiver creeping down her spine. What am I saying? The reality hit her with a quiet force. Her mom was gone. So was her dad. They had been for years.

Susan stood still, the weight of the empty house pressing in around her, her words hanging in the air like an echo of something lost.

"I have to stop talking to empty walls," Susan muttered under her breath, the weight of the words settling on her shoulders. She stood in the hallway, staring at the photos, realizing just how deeply ingrained her habit had become. The routine of greeting her parents, of speaking to them as if they were still there, felt so natural—yet now, she couldn't ignore the emptiness it left behind.

A quiet sigh escaped her lips. "Maybe I actually need to realize…" The thought lingered, unfinished, heavy with implications. Realize what, though? That they were really gone? Or that she was clinging to something that no longer existed?

Susan shook her head, trying to brush it off, but the silence around her felt louder than it ever had before. The house, once filled with voices and laughter, now felt like a hollow shell, and her words, spoken to the photos on the walls, seemed to echo back at her.

Then, just as the stillness became unbearable, a voice—soft, gentle, yet distinctly unfamiliar—broke the silence.

"It's okay. They may be gone, but we are here. I am here."

Susan turned her head, looking to her side, but found nothing.

"I know," she replied quietly, a strange sense of comfort washing over her.

She took a deep breath, shaking off the unsettling feeling—or any feeling—and walked away, heading to the shower. The warm water would wash away the remnants of the night's unease, she hoped.

As the water cascaded over her, she sighed in relief.

"Uff, my body feels sore, as if I was working out yesterday, but I slept all day long." The steam wrapped around her, soothing her muscles, but the fatigue lingered like a shadow, heavy and unwelcome.

She closed her eyes, letting the warmth seep into her skin. Had she really slept all day? The more she thought about it, the more it felt like a dream—one she couldn't quite remember, yet its effects were all too real.

After rinsing off, Susan stepped out of the shower and quickly changed into fresh clothes, the fabric clinging to her damp skin. As she pulled on a soft sweater, a thought crossed her mind.

"What time is it?"

She glanced toward the clock on the wall; its hands were moving steadily, but the numbers felt distant and surreal. The day outside seemed brighter than she expected, sunlight pouring in through the window, but the hours felt like they had slipped away while she was lost in thought.

I still have an hour. What should I do till then? she asked herself, tapping her fingers against the couch.

Then it struck her. Maybe I should clean around a bit. It hasn't been cleaned in a while.

With a newfound sense of purpose, Susan stood up, the lingering fatigue starting to lift as she focused on the task at hand. She moved through the house, picking up stray items that had collected dust—a forgotten book here, a stray shoe there.

"Ah, finally," she said, surveying the room. But as she looked around, she noticed that despite everything being picked up, the space still felt unorganized. The clutter might have been cleared, but the overall disarray lingered, a chaotic jumble of mismatched decor and misplaced furniture.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. Why does it still look so... off? The thought nagged at her as she walked around, trying to figure out what was missing. Maybe it was the memories that didn't quite fit anymore, or perhaps the absence of the warmth that once filled the space.

But then she shook her head, pushing those thoughts aside. "It's time. I'd better go get ready," she thought, knowing she had a job to do—literally. Turning away from the mess, she headed back to her bedroom, planning to tackle the organization another day. After changing for the office, she walked to the nearby station and caught the earliest train. An hour later, she arrived at her office, ready to start her day.

"Hey, Tommy, how are you?" Susan asked as she set her things on her desk.

"Hi, Susan," Tommy replied, glancing up at her with a smile.

After a brief exchange, Susan turned to look for Maria, hoping to catch up before their meeting. She scanned the office, searching for her friend amidst the bustle of colleagues getting settled for the day but found her nowhere. A slight frown creased her forehead as she wondered if Maria was running late or had already gone to the conference room.

As the day wore on, her worry grew. She tried calling Maria a few times, but there was no response on the other end. Each unanswered ring added to her unease, and she couldn't shake the feeling that something might be off.

But soon, a nagging thought crept in—what if something had happened to her? Just as she was about to go check on Maria, her phone buzzed with a message.

"Hey, I'm not feeling well today," the text read. Relief flooded through Susan, but concern quickly followed. She typed back, asking if there was anything she could do to help, hoping Maria would be okay.

Susan stared at her screen, waiting for a response. A few moments later, Maria replied, "Thanks, but I just need to rest. I'll catch up on everything when I'm back."

"Take care of yourself! Let me know if you need anything," Susan typed, hitting send before putting her phone down.

The office buzzed around her, but her mind was partially focused on Maria. She hoped her friend would recover quickly.

Deciding to shift her focus, Susan turned to her work. Days passed, and the routine of the office settled into a rhythm. But as each day went by, Susan's concern for Maria deepened.

Maria had not returned to the office, and while she responded to texts, her replies were short and uninviting. Whenever Susan suggested visiting her, Maria always opposed the idea.

"Just resting, that's all," Maria would text back, though Susan sensed an underlying tension in her words.

The lack of face-to-face interaction left Susan feeling anxious. She wanted to help, but Maria's resistance made it difficult.