STILLNESS ISN’T PEACE

The days blurred together at Liz's place. Not in that foggy, unblinking way like the first few nights, but more like a quiet drifting. I'd get up, brush my teeth, eat whatever Liz's mom made for breakfast, and sit by the window pretending I was reading or answering emails.

Sometimes I'd scroll through my phone, sometimes I'd just stare. It all felt the same—muted, weightless.

It was strange, the stillness.

I wasn't crying every hour anymore. The sharp, breath-stealing pain had dulled into something slower. Something heavier. I could breathe, but it wasn't relief—it was just survival. Barely.

One morning, I finally opened my banking app. I don't even know why. Maybe I was bored, or maybe I just wanted to feel like I was still tethered to something real.