Monica

The creaking of the rocking chair fills the silence, slow, steady—like the beating of a heart that no longer exists. I can hear your breathing from here.

So uneven. So frantic. Just like before.

I tilt my head slightly, the motion stiff, unnatural. My damp hair clings to my face, sticky against my skin, but I don’t bother moving it. I don’t need to.

You’re looking at me now.

Finally.

"You look… surprised, love."

I let the words drip from my lips slowly, savoring them, rolling them over my tongue. How long has it been since I last spoke to you? Since you last saw me alive?

I chuckle softly, a hollow sound, void of warmth. I lift a hand to my neck, tracing my fingers along the faint bruises there—the same ones your hands left behind.

"Did you really think that would be enough?"

My nails tap lightly against the wooden armrest of my chair. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound is almost soothing.

I see you stiffen. Are you scared? Confused? Maybe both.

That’s okay. You’ll understand soon.

I rise to my feet—slowly, deliberately. My movements are different now—wrong. Like something stitched together, something learning how to move all over again.

"Don’t be afraid, love."

I take a step closer.

"I’m not mad at you."

Another step.

"I understand why you did it."

I pause, tilting my head again, those dull gray eyes watching, waiting.

"But you don’t have to be afraid anymore."

I take another step. Then another. Closer now.

"We can be together forever now."

And as the words slip from my lips, I smile—a soft, loving smile.

Like nothing ever happened at all.