And one morning… he didn't wake up.
There was no dramatic moment. No final gasp or whispered parting words. Just the soft hush of breath that didn't come again, and the quiet stillness that followed. The kind that settles deep…
Not with panic, but with the certainty that something has shifted forever.
I had known it was close. We both had. But knowing doesn't soften the silence. It just teaches you how to stand inside it.
The house, already slow and quiet, became something else entirely. Every sound felt suspended, like even the floorboards knew not to creak too loudly. The fireplace crackled. Tea boiled. Life, in small ways, continued. But under everything was a hush that didn't lift.
Mark didn't speak much in those first few days. But he didn't pull away either. We moved through the hours in tandem. He'd reach for my hand without looking. I'd pass him a cup of tea before he asked. He stood behind me at the sink once, his forehead pressed gently between my shoulder blades.
