And one evening, months after everything changed, Lena visited Clara’s new apartment after a long shift.
Her mother was cooking at the stove with music playing softly from a radio.
A car door slammed somewhere outside.
Lena flinched.
Clara did too.
They looked at each other.
Then Clara turned back to the stove.
No footsteps came toward the door.
No key twisted violently in the lock.
No voice rose from the hallway.
The sound remained what it had always deserved to be.
Just a car door closing.
Clara exhaled.
Lena set her hospital bag on the chair.
And for the first time in either woman’s life, silence was only silence.
