but words failing him. His silence was a wall I couldn’t climb, and it loomed larger than life in our small kitchen. I wanted to scream, to shatter the oppressive quiet, but the exhaustion of the day weighed on me like an anchor. My heart ached for an explanation, for any hint of remorse or understanding. But all I got was the shuffle of his boots as he stood and went to the fridge, pulling out a beer.
The clink of the bottle opening was the only conversation we had. I watched him retreat into the living room, collapsing into his recliner like a shipwrecked sailor. The television flickered on, and I was left standing there, trying to make sense of a world that had just turned upside down.
