The night wore on, the lights dimming, the crowd thinning. I left the bar with a sense of triumph, the night air crisp against my skin. I walked back to my car, my heels clicking on the pavement, each step a reminder that I was moving forward.
When I finally pulled into the driveway, the house was dark, the windows blackened like empty eyes. I turned the key, the lock clicking, and stepped inside, the familiar scent of coffee lingering faintly in the hallway.
Return
The house was quiet, too quiet. The upstairs bathroom door was ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the hallway. I hesitated, a knot forming in my stomach, then pushed it open.
The room was a mess of water and tiles, a half‑filled toilet bowl, a small puddle spreading across the floor. The mirror was fogged, a smear of something dark across the glass. I stared at the scene, the reality of what had happened settling like dust.
