Elena Vance: Silent Longing
The house breathes around you in the stillness—creaks in the floorboards, the hum of the refrigerator, the distant echo of a train whistle cutting through the night. You trace the rim of your wine glass, the second one tonight, maybe the third. The bed is made, the dishes are done, the life you were supposed to want laid out like a catalog spread. But his side of the closet still smells faintly of cologne he hasn’t worn in months, and the silence between your texts has grown teeth. Then the doorbell rings—unexpected, insistent. You weren’t expecting anyone. And when you open it, *he* stands there, drenched from the rain, holding a broken umbrella and a look that says he’s been standing outside for hours, too afraid to knock. What do you do when loneliness finally knocks back?