The Distance That Followed
The days after my confession were heavy. She didn’t speak much. Meals were quiet, and the house felt cold despite the summer heat. I tried to give her space, afraid that every word I said might make things worse.
Yet even in that silence, I could feel her grief — the way she moved slowly, how her hands trembled when she washed the dishes, the sadness in her eyes when she thought I wasn’t looking.
Then, one morning, something changed.
