Rose was gone.
The ache settled into my chest the way it had every morning since the call. Dull. Heavy. Impossible to ignore.
I lay still, staring at the ceiling, wishing absurdly that I could roll over and text her like we used to after bad dreams.
You alive?
Barely.
You?
A ghost of a smile tugged at my mouth before dissolving just as quickly.
Silence answered instead.
My gaze drifted to the chair in the corner where some of her clothes still sat—things she’d probably meant to sort before … everything.
A slow breath filled my lungs.
I threw the covers back and padded across the hardwood floor, cool under my feet. Opening her closet still felt intrusive, even after days here, like I was trespassing.
Rows of clothes greeted me. Rose’s life arranged neatly on hangers.
And if there was any lingering doubt?
This was a woman who stayed.
Silk blouses that weren’t practical for airports. Heels too delicate for rushing through terminals. A black dress that felt more candlelight than conference call. Scarves tucked along the shelf—soft, deliberate, chosen by someone who knew she’d be wearing them more than once.
Not souvenirs.
Staples.
There were coats here for different seasons. Shoes lined up with intention. Jewelry in a ceramic dish by the closet door like she’d taken it off at night and expected to reach for it again in the morning.
One hundred percent—this wasn’t a temporary assignment wardrobe.
This was a life.
And whatever that life was—whoever she’d become in it—I was only now stepping into the space she’d left behind.
My throat tightened.
I ran my fingers over soft fabrics until they stopped on a simple red sweater, oversized and worn at the cuffs, paired with dark jeans.
I remembered her wearing this. A photo flashed in my mind—her laughing on a bridge somewhere, hair blowing everywhere, wine in hand.
Without letting myself think too much, I showered, then changed into her clothes.
The sweater hung slightly loose on me, sleeves long enough to cover half my hands. It still smelled faintly like her—clean, floral, familiar.
Something inside my chest loosened.
Like she was still here.
Like maybe she’d just stepped out for coffee and would come back any minute, complaining about traffic and asking if I wanted to walk somewhere.
I swallowed hard and turned away from the mirror before emotion tipped into something harder to contain.
