The Silence that Eats You Alive
The next morning, the house was still and cold, as if the storm of yesterday had frozen everything in place. Alice moved through her morning routine like a ghost. She didn't speak to Anna or Noah, didn't ask them about their day or offer anything resembling warmth. It wasn't that she didn't care. It was that, somewhere along the way, she had stopped caring.
Anna sat on the edge of her bed, watching her mother as she adjusted her blouse in front of the mirror. Alice's reflection looked tired, worn, as though the years had been etched into her face. When her eyes met Anna's in the mirror, there was nothing there. Not love, not regret, not even anger. Just a deep, endless emptiness that swallowed everything.
"Are you going to school today?" Alice asked, her voice distant, not quite sounding like her own.
"Yes," Anna replied quietly, though part of her wondered why. What was the point of anything anymore?
Alice nodded, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Don't forget your lunch. Your father will be home late tonight."
Anna didn't respond. She didn't know if that meant anything anymore—if anything ever did.
When she left the house later that morning, Noah was already gone. He had learned to leave early—to escape the house before the walls closed in. It was the only way to survive.
But survival wasn't living. Not really.