I had spent so many years believing survival was the same thing as living.
Russell had shown me otherwise.
That evening, rain began tapping lightly against the kitchen windows.
I opened them.
They were expensive windows.
Perfectly fitted.
No leaks.
No cracks.
No cold air slipping through damaged frames.
Still, I pushed them wide because I wanted the smell of rain inside.
I made peppermint tea.
Habit made me take down two cups.
I almost put the second one back.
Instead, I placed it across from me.
Maybe it was foolish.
Maybe it was comforting.
I didn’t care.
I sat down.
And for once, I counted nothing.
Not bills.
Not tips.
Not debts.
Not how many people believed I had truly loved Russell.
Not how much I had inherited.
Not how much I had lost.
Nothing.
The silence around me no longer felt like something waiting to swallow me.
