I remember the exact sound of the clock the day I stopped waiting. That little tick… soft, stubborn, and endlessly…

I remember the lights first. Not the sound, not the panic, not the shouting of gate agents or watches vibrating…

I found the note the same night the priest closed the book of prayers and the last of the mourners…

I walked into the dining room with a slow breath, the lukewarm tea still in my hand, the plate of…

I still remember the January wind that night, sharp and unkind, rattling the loose frame of the old porch door…