A sound escaped—broken and raw—but it sliced through the party like thunder.
“Don’t go…”
A glass shattered.
Charles dropped his drink.
The room fell silent.
Ethan clung to Martha as tears poured freely.
“Please… don’t go. It’s too loud…”
Charles rushed forward, collapsing to his knees.
“Ethan?” he whispered.
His son turned toward him, eyes full and alive.
“Daddy… I’m scared.”
Charles gathered him up, sobbing, finally understanding: he had filled a house with everything except himself.
Later, after the guests left, the silence returned—but it was warm.
Healing.
In the kitchen, Charles thanked Martha with tears in his eyes.
“How did you know?” he asked.
She smiled gently.
“He’s not broken,” she said. “He’s grieving. And grief needs company.”
That night, the house breathed again.
