My name was printed on it in neat, unfamiliar handwriting. My stomach tightened as I picked it up and flipped it over. The address on the back was one I recognized. Madeline’s bookstore—the one I worked at.
With shaking hands, I slowly tore it open. The weight of it felt wrong. Too formal. Too clean. It was the kind of thing that only ever brought bad news. Grateful I was already sitting down, because my legs felt like they didn’t belong to me anymore.
Elliot,
I’ve tried to reach out to you multiple times by phone and in person. And you have never responded or answered your door. I understand how difficult the loss of your mother has hit you. Natalie was a truly wonderful woman. And while I’ve taken that into account and have allowed you longer than your contracted bereavement period. You must understand that the world continues and I have a business to run.
It is with great sadness that I must inform you your position has been terminated. Effective immediately.
Madeline
The words blurred. Not because I was crying. But because I couldn’t focus. My job. My routine. The last place I went every day where someone expected me.
Gone.
Another quiet subtraction from a life that was already mostly empty spaces. I folded the letter once. Then again. Pressed it flat against the table with the heel of my hand, like I could push it back into nothing.
A sound escaped my throat—not a sob, not a laugh—something thin and broken that didn’t belong to any emotion I recognized.
“Okay,” I whispered. It wasn’t acceptance. It was what I said when there was nothing else left to say.
Drained, I leaned forward until my forehead rested against the cool wood of the table. That was when I noticed how far away my body felt. How the ache in my chest had faded into something vague and unreachable. How even the humiliation,the grief, the shame—all of it felt like it was happening to someone else. I pressed my hand against my hollow chest. Nothing. Not enough.
It’s the only thing I can still feel. The thought arrived fully formed. It scared me. Not because it was dark. Because it was true. I lifted my head slowly. The day outside the kitchen window was bright and ordinary. Someone’s car started and faded down the street. A dog barked in one of the gardens nearby. Life continued around me without permission.
Without my mom. Without my job. Without any guarantee the one person I wanted most wouldn’t leave me again. I pressed my hand against my hollow chest. Nothing. Not enough. My breath shuddered as I exhaled.
“I’m fine," I whispered to no one. The lie felt thin. But it was the only one I had.
My chair screeched too loudly in the quiet as I pushed back from the table and stood too fast. The room tilted. For a second, I had to grip the edge of the chair to keep myself upright.
My body felt like it was running on memory instead of intention. I didn't decide to go upstairs. I just… did. One foot, then the other. The carpet muffled my steps like the house was trying to pretend I wasn’t there.
The door to my room was half-closed. Inside, everything was exactly where I'd left it. Bed an unmade tangle of sheets. Clothes dumped on the floor next to the hamper. My phone was face up on the nightstand, dark and accusing. No messages. No missed calls. Nothing to prove I still existed to anyone outside these walls.
The door snapped shut behind me as I kicked it with my heel. The silence pressed in harder here. Thicker.
I crossed the room to my closet, knelt down and reached to the back without looking. Buried underneath a pile of oldjournals, my fingers found the edge of the shoebox immediately. Emergency was written on the lid.
Carefully, I pulled it and slid down the wall with it resting on my lap. It felt heavier than it was. The lid came off with that soft cardboard sigh. Inside, I catalogued everything. Gauze, antiseptic wipes, a roll of tape and the blade wrapped carefully in tissue like it was something fragile instead of deadly and sharp.
My hands were steady when I picked it up. That was the worst part. The calm that washed over me. The thought from earlier returned.It’s the only thing I can still feel.
Not because I wanted to hurt. Not because I wanted to disappear. But because I wanted to feel alive. Because it felt like everything was happening behind glass.
The mattress dipped as I sat down and pressed the blade flat against my palm. Not hard enough to break the skin. Just enough to feel the cold metal sting against my skin. It was the promise of a line I could cross on purpose. A modicum of control when I felt so lost. Something that would answer me whenever I touched it.
My breath hitched.
My throat tightened as I pulled my hoodie off.
“Daddy,” I whispered, tears stung the back of my eyes—white hot. The word slipped out before I could stop it. Soft. Cracked. Almost embarrassed.
Not a title. Not a role. Not a game. It was a desperate attempt, a need to reach. A rope I could throw into the dark and hope he was still holding the other end.
I curled forward, elbows on my knees, blade cradled reverently between both hands.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured to the empty room. To him. To myself. To whoever I used to be before everything started fading out of me.
