I lay on the sofa, staring at the empty hallway where his suitcase had stood five minutes ago. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked, a steady, indifferent rhythm that seemed to mark the distance growing between us.
By six in the evening, the sun had slipped behind the neighbor’s maple trees, leaving the living room in gray shadow. I had not moved to turn on the lamps, preferring the quiet dark of the room.
My phone lay on the coffee table, just out of arm’s reach, its black screen reflecting the pale light from the window. I kept expecting a text saying he had changed his mind at the gate.
A sudden, dull ache blossomed in my lower back, sharp enough to make me catch my breath. I shifted my weight on the cushions, trying to find a position that did not pull at my ribs.
The kitchen clock chimed nine times, the brass chimes sounding thin in the empty house. I managed to reach the glass of water on the end table, but my hand was cold.
