The pressure eases, slow and gradual, the strength of him unwinding beneath my fingers like something being carefully, deliberately released.
I tighten my grip and keep going.
“Yeah,” I whisper, nodding slightly like he’s answered me. “I’ll sign it. I will. I just… I wanted to make sure it was right first. You know how I am.”
My thumb presses into his hand, like I can press the life back into it. “And I’ll get better at the bread,” I add, softer now. “I will. I’ll stop burning it… eventually.”
The machines shift.
I hear it distantly.
A change in rhythm.
A hesitation.
And then…
A long, steady tone stretches out behind me.
Flat.
Unbroken.
It fills the room, but it doesn’t feel like it belongs to this moment. It sits at the edge of everything, distant white noise.
Irrelevant.
Because his hand…
His hand is still in mine, but it isn’t holding me anymore.
The weight is different.
The presence is different.
The world shifts around it, quiet and absolute.
I feel it.
The exact second he’s gone.
“I’ll…” My voice catches, but I push through it anyway. “I’ll show you when it’s done, okay?”
The tone keeps going.
Endless.
Meaningless.
“I’ll bring you the first proper loaf,” I whisper, leaning in slightly, my forehead almost brushing his hand. “The one I don’t burn.”
The room is still.
Everything is still.
Except that fucking sound.
Except the absence of him.
