Fred woke up to the sound of silence. The room felt cold, and the air carried no warmth of movement or laughter.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, and for a moment, he almost called out Anabelle’s name. But then he remembered—she wasn’t there anymore.
He looked at the empty chair by his window where she used to sit with her morning coffee. Her cup was still on the shelf, clean and unused.
Fred sighed, pressing his lips together. The sound of her humming, the way she always filled the house with energy, was gone.
He walked into the kitchen, his footsteps echoing faintly on the tiles. The sunlight streamed through the curtains, landing on the clean counter.
No music, no chatter, no smell of toast. “Guess it’s just me today,” he muttered, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach his e
