I say nothing. I do nothing. I feel nothing. “Edy, please,” he says quietly, almost sadly. “Please, Edy.” I can hear him breathing on the other side of the door, breathing oddly, like, unevenly. But no, it’s not just him breathing, I realize slowly. He’s crying. And I kneel there on the other side of the door that might as well be the other side of the galaxy, feeling so empty, so dead inside. He tries the knob one more time and then I hear nothing. Until the front door closes, then the rumble of his car starts in the driveway.
