Empty

As Zinnia finished her dinner, she placed the empty plate in the sink, rinsing it absentmindedly. The house was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that made her uneasy. She wiped her hands on a towel, leaning against the counter, staring at the empty space where Samuel usually stood.

It felt strange, missing someone who was just a few hours late. But it wasn't just about the time. It was about the way he had been, lately—present, attentive, warm. She had gotten used to those small, thoughtful gestures, the way he'd bring her a cup of tea without saying a word, or how he'd catch her eye across the room and smile.

And now, with him gone, the house felt hollow. Lonelier than it had ever been, even back when Samuel's cold treatment had been all she knew. She could handle that old, distant version of him because she didn't expect anything else. But now, she had tasted something different, and going back to that emptiness scared her.