Empty Nest
Occasionally, "NestIQ" crept into mind. Masochistic curiosity. Online snippets surfaced: New product launch—Ethan as CTO explaining tech, focused yet dimmed spark. Camera panned to Sophia applauding front row. B-round funding announcement—photos of Sophia and Ethan toasting, shoulder-to-shoulder smiles, a subtle distance between them. A meticulously maintained business alliance. Their "shared child" seemed to thrive. But in that office once filled with our foolish dreams, did heavy silence linger late at night?
Old Photographs
Moving unearthed a dusty album. Emma peeked curiously. Flipping pages: College dorm—Sophia and I squeezed on a narrow bed, goofy grins, sharing a chip bag. Another page: Wedding day—Sophia adjusting my veil in lavender bridesmaid dress, sunlight through stained glass dappling her face. Then, her eyes shone bright and true. Fingertips traced her youthful face. Dull ache throbbed. Didn't tear or discard. Just closed the album, tucked it deep in storage. Sealing away blistering youth—turned to ash.
Solitary New Year
New Year's Eve. Our cozy living room, heater humming. TV blared festive shows. Emma in red sweater stacked blocks on the rug, humming tunelessly. Doorbell rang. Ethan. He carried an oversized gift and Emma's favorite strawberry cake, hair wind-tousled, cheeks flushed. "Daddy!" Emma abandoned blocks, sprinting to him. He swept her up, spinning high. Her giggles chimed like bells. "Happy New Year, my princess," he murmured into her neck. Setting her down, he handed over gifts. Emma scampered off joyfully. Alone in the room now. TV merriment blared. "Happy New Year," he said, gaze complex. "Happy New Year," I nodded. Brief silence.
Air thickened. "You... alright?" he asked. "Fine," I replied. "Emma... you're handling it well." "She's my daughter." Silence again. Emma dashed back, toy horse in hand: "Daddy, see?" He knelt instantly, smiling wide: "Wow! Lovely!" I retreated to the kitchen, pouring water. Glass chilled my palm. Framed by the doorway, I watched father and daughter on the rug. He patiently taught her assembly, profile softened in lamplight. Emma gazed up, adoring. My heart soaked in tepid brine. Familiar tableau—yet separated by impassable peaks. This was the end. Fragments glued into fragile decency.
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Occasionally, "NestIQ" crept into mind. Masochistic curiosity. Online snippets surfaced: New product launch—Ethan as CTO explaining tech, focused yet dimmed spark. Camera panned to Sophia applauding front row. B-round funding announcement—photos of Sophia and Ethan toasting, shoulder-to-shoulder smiles, a subtle distance between them. A meticulously maintained business alliance. Their "shared child" seemed to thrive. But in that office once filled with our foolish dreams, did heavy silence linger late at night?
Old Photographs
Moving unearthed a dusty album. Emma peeked curiously. Flipping pages: College dorm—Sophia and I squeezed on a narrow bed, goofy grins, sharing a chip bag. Another page: Wedding day—Sophia adjusting my veil in lavender bridesmaid dress, sunlight through stained glass dappling her face. Then, her eyes shone bright and true. Fingertips traced her youthful face. Dull ache throbbed. Didn't tear or discard. Just closed the album, tucked it deep in storage. Sealing away blistering youth—turned to ash.
Solitary New Year
New Year's Eve. Our cozy living room, heater humming. TV blared festive shows. Emma in red sweater stacked blocks on the rug, humming tunelessly. Doorbell rang. Ethan. He carried an oversized gift and Emma's favorite strawberry cake, hair wind-tousled, cheeks flushed. "Daddy!" Emma abandoned blocks, sprinting to him. He swept her up, spinning high. Her giggles chimed like bells. "Happy New Year, my princess," he murmured into her neck. Setting her down, he handed over gifts. Emma scampered off joyfully. Alone in the room now. TV merriment blared. "Happy New Year," he said, gaze complex. "Happy New Year," I nodded. Brief silence.
Air thickened. "You... alright?" he asked. "Fine," I replied. "Emma... you're handling it well." "She's my daughter." Silence again. Emma dashed back, toy horse in hand: "Daddy, see?" He knelt instantly, smiling wide: "Wow! Lovely!" I retreated to the kitchen, pouring water. Glass chilled my palm. Framed by the doorway, I watched father and daughter on the rug. He patiently taught her assembly, profile softened in lamplight. Emma gazed up, adoring. My heart soaked in tepid brine. Familiar tableau—yet separated by impassable peaks. This was the end. Fragments glued into fragile decency.
NEXT >>
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