That night, quiet settled like dust. Helen watched the clean counter where the vase used to live. She told herself not to be silly. Lisa wasn’t cruel—just tired, stretched thin by emails and errands and the thousand small costs of modern life.
Still, every broken promise left a hairline crack in something Helen had thought indestructible. She held her tea a little tighter and tried not to read meaning into the silence.
Silence can carry more weight than words when you’re listening for what doesn’t arrive.
