When they left, the house felt even emptier, the tick of the clock mocking him. Ethan closed the door behind them and stood there, staring into the void. If she’s not here…where is she? An ache spread through his chest. He didn’t know whether to sit, scream, or start running.
Instead, his feet carried him to their bedroom. He opened her closet, the place she reflexively stored all her stuff—even the mundane. The familiar scent of lavender fabric softener and faint traces of her perfume drifted out. Dresses lined the rack, the colors and textures of years spent together. He reached out, letting the fabric brush against his fingers, as if touching her.