Fucking chaotic.

Two bowls on the counter. Milk already sweating in the glass. One of them crying about something that wouldn’t matter in an hour.

The other asking stupid questions.

The dog scratching at the back door.

Something sticky under my foot.

I moved through it all without thinking.

Pouring. Stirring. Wiping my hands on a towel that was already damp.

Opening one cabinet. Then another.

Standing still long enough to forget what I was looking for.

The phone sat on the wall.

Green. Corded.

It had been there before we moved in.

I thought about taking it down once.

But then I wouldn’t have had anything to wait for.

I stopped with the cereal box still in my hand.

Cheerios spilling over the rim.

It hadn’t rung yet.

There was a knock at the door.

“Bus in ten,” Joan called through the wood.

The moment broke.

I set the box down.

Wiped my hands again.

Opened the door.

The cold came in first.

Then her.

Coat already on. Keys in her hand. One of hers tugging at her sleeve.

“Running late?” she asked.

“Always,” I said.

We moved through it the way we always did.

Shoes. Jackets. Zippers that wouldn’t catch. Kisses placed without thinking.

One of mine whining because the socks felt wrong.

Joan laughing softly like mornings could still be funny.

The door shut behind them.

The house went still.

I stood there longer than I needed to.

Hand still on the knob.

I could have left.

Groceries. Laundry. Gas station. Coffee. Anything.

If I wasn’t there, I wouldn’t hear it.

If I didn’t hear it, I wouldn’t have to answer.

That’s what people think.

I turned back toward the kitchen.

Picked up the knife.

Set it down.

Turned on the stove without putting anything on it.

Turned it off.

Waited.

When it rang, it didn’t startle me.

I let it go once.

Twice.

Then I picked up.

It used my maiden name.

I fuckin liked that.

“Yes,” I said.

I listened.

It asked if the children were gone.

I said they were.

It breathed a little.

“I understand,” I said.

I hung up.

The house stayed quiet.

My hands were steady now.

I folded the towel into a square.

Joan’s door was unlocked.

It usually was.

She turned when I came in.

Half a smile already there.

Something about coffee, I think.

Or needing eggs.

Or maybe asking if I was alright.

People ask things when they don’t want the answer.

I crossed the room.

The knife moved cleanly across her throat.

It didn’t take long.

After, I stood there a second.

Waiting to feel horror.

Or guilt.

Or anything useful.

But nothing came.

It never does.

I went back to my kitchen.

Set the potatoes on the counter.

Peeled them one at a time.

The knife moved beautifully.

Even cuts.

Same as last time.

Water boiled.

A pan set down a little too hard.

The small ordinary sounds returned.

Nothing about it felt different.

It never does.

That’s the worst part.

Not the blood.

Not the call.

How easy everything becomes after.

Some women pray for guidance. Mine came through the kitchen wall.

I knew it would be that day.

I knew what the call would be.

I knew what I would do when it came.

I could have let it ring.

I knew it would say her name.

And I fuckin answered anyway.

It felt like something had already done the same with me.

I remember thinking: This will end badly.

I went in anyway.

══════════════════════════

The realtor kept talking behind me. Square footage. Natural light. Original fixtures. I nodded where it felt expected. I don’t remember most of what she said.

I was already inside it.

The place wasn’t remarkable. Not really. An older house, split into units. A narrow entryway. The kitchen just off to the left. The kind of layout that made sense before it was divided.

I set my keys down on the counter.

The sound felt familiar.

I moved through the rooms slowly, like I was remembering. There’s always a moment in places like that. A point where something settles.

Not in the room.

But in you.

It happened just past the kitchen. I stopped without meaning to. Not for long. Just enough. I didn’t think anything then.

Not in words.

Just the shape of it.

This is where.

Where I knew it had already settled into place.

I signed the papers two days later.

He liked it. Said it felt like a good start. Something we could make ours.

I let him say that.

We moved in on a Tuesday. Boxes everywhere. Half-unpacked things. The usual. He talked about paint colors. Where the couch should go. Whether we should replace the cabinets.

I listened the way you do when none of it matters. He didn’t notice the way I avoided that spot. Or maybe he did. People notice more than they say.

══════════════════════════

The nights were the easiest. Everything quieter. Slower. I slept better than I had in years. Sometimes I would walk through the apartment in the dark, not turning on any lights. The floors carried more than they should have.

He started asking questions after a while.

Why did I keep stopping in the same place? Why didn’t I like the kitchen light on? Why do I always check the locks?

I didn’t have answers he would understand, so I didn’t try.

There are things you can say out loud, and things that don’t survive it.

He stood there once, right where I always stopped, talking about something I don’t remember. I watched him—the way he filled the space, the way it fit. It was almost exact. That was the first time I felt it clearly. After that, it came more often.

In pieces.

The angle of his shoulders. The way his voice sounded when he said my name. The quiet between one sentence and the next.

I knew how it would end. I knew where I would be standing. I knew where he would.I knew I had already agreed to it.It didn’t feel like something waiting to happen. It felt like something that already had.

He asked me once if I was happy. I said yes. It wasn’t a lie. There’s a kind of peace in knowing how things end. People don’t talk about that. They act like uncertainty is the hard part.

It isn’t.

══════════════════════════

The night it happened wasn’t different. Nothing felt off. Nothing warned me. We were just there, in the space exactly where we were supposed to be.

After, the apartment felt the same. That surprised me. I thought something would shift.

It didn’t.

I stood in the doorway again later in the evening. Same spot. Same stillness. It was quieter, but not empty. I understood then what I hadn’t before. It wasn’t about stopping it.

It was about letting it have me the way it wanted.

I could tell you I didn’t see it coming, that I didn’t understand what I was stepping into.

That would make it easier. But I did.

He hadn’t even lived there long.

I stood in the doorway again this morning.

Nothing had changed. I knew how it would end. I knew what I would do.

I stepped inside anyway.

Audio backdrop: Multiverse — Sphäre Sechs