I wasn’t sure what that meant yet, but I didn’t need to.
Not today.
Today, I was still here.
And maybe that was enough.
The light outside was starting to shift again, where day and night traded places but didn’t do it cleanly.
I was sitting in the armchair, elbows on my knees, fingers laced tightly. The laptop sat closed on the desk across the room, exactly where I’d left it an hour ago.
I hadn’t touched it since.
I wasn’t avoiding work.
Not exactly.
More like… avoidingeverything else.
The quiet had started to feel too loud. It was the kind of silence that didn’t soothe. It echoed and bounced around my mind, knocking things off the high shelves I’d stuffed them on years ago.
The shelves that held all the things I didn’t talk about.
Didn’tletmyself think about.
I didn’t come here to unpack my feelings. I came here to get away. But even the lake and the trees couldn’t keep the thoughts out forever.
I leaned back in the chair and let my head tip against the wall.
It was the lodge. Or maybe it was her.
That woman, Fifi. She reminded me of the life I used to think I’d have before everything cracked. Before people I loved disappeared without a warning. Before I learned how to survive by keeping everythingin.
She made it look easy, being open. Like her joy was a resource that would never run out. I didn’t trust that, and I certainly couldn’t in my line of work.
Because I’d seen what happened when you let your guard down.
I closed my eyes, just for a second.
But the memory flickered up before I could stop it.
A hospital room.
A voicemail I didn’t check until it was too late.
The look on my brother’s face when he told me I’d missed it…that our dad had asked for me, and I wasn’t there.
I sat up straight. Jaw clenched.
No.
I wasn’t going there.
Not tonight.
I stood and grabbed my jacket off the hook by the door.
Dinner at the lodge was about to start soon. I could hear faint clinks and clatter through the floorboards. The silverware clanging, chairs being moved, and the hum of conversation began to stir.
