I didn't make a sound as I opened the closet door.
The hinges creaked like they were protesting on my behalf, like they knew what this meant. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for the suitcase on the top shelf—the same one I'd brought here months ago, when none of this was real and I'd told myself I didn't care.
I set it on the bed slowly, carefully, as if I moved gently enough, it wouldn't feel like the world was ending.
But it did.
The zipper caught on the corner briefly, and the tiny pause nearly undid me. I stared at it, at that stubborn metal tooth that refused to slide easily, and felt something sharp crack in my chest. I could have cried over the way something so small could make this harder. But the tears stayed where they always did lately—buried deep, sitting heavy in the hollowness I couldn't name.
Folding clothes shouldn't feel like this.
