By Sumaiya T Ahmed
The once-lively house that used to greet her as she stepped in now felt cold and desolate. Each step echoed — inside the house. Inside her. Like an empty shell.
The running water in the sink felt cold on her hands. Every time the knife hit the cutting board, it spoke of the empty house. She said nothing back.
She finished cooking in silence, then went to wash up.
Her eyes caught the pot filled with food, and something flickered inside her. A soft, stubborn thought she hadn't been able to shake:
"Maybe... Just, maybe..."
She looked up at the mirror; water dripping from her face. A tiny hope glimmered in her lifeless eyes.
[You know that's not going to happen, right?]
Ba-dump.
The voice — her own voice — cracked through her like thunder. The entire house seemed to shake.
Droplets clung to her chin before they hit the sink.
Drip. Drop.
Everything was so quiet. It felt like even her heart had stopped.
She reached for the hand towel. It felt so dry against her skin like it might scrap off her skin.
When she wiped her face and met her own eyes again, it was as if the towel had scraped away what little light might have been there.
She returned to the dining room. Her hands had moved on their own again. The table was already set: five chairs, five plates, five spoons, five mugs.
She stared.
She had done it again. Like always. Except for the terribly hollow feeling inside.
A family of five. Laughing. Bickering. Passing food and teasing over spilled water.
She pulled out a chair and sat down. And waited.
And waited.
The house remained still.
The shoe-shelf was empty. The living room, untouched. The master bedroom — quiet.
So was the one across it.
Only one toothbrush in the holder. No coats on the rack. No tiny socks by the door.
No man.
No woman.
No little girl.
No little boy.
Just the dull remnants of a fantasy. A perfect lie she had loved too much.
She filled her plate. Ate a spoonful. She couldn't taste it.
It felt stuck in her throat. She drank water. Ate again.
Still stuck.
She gave up trying to clear the feeling. She kept eating anyway. Slowly. Calmly. Like it mattered.
Her hand trembled as she pushed the cold metal spoon into her mouth.
The truth was too heavy.
A family that never stepped outside.
A family no one ever met.
A mother who never grew tired. A father who never got angry.
A little sister who never changed — always sweet, always smiling.
A family frozen in perfection.
Too perfect.
[You fool.]
Her lips trembled as she swallowed the last bit of food.
[You should've realized it sooner.]
A breath shuddered from her chest. She set the spoon down from her trembling fingers.
[That way, you wouldn't be hurting so much now.]
She tried to stop herself from crying.
[You knew it too, didn't you?]
The tears betrayed her before she could bite them back.
[That this family…]
[…was nothing but an illusion.]
With a loud gasp, she let it all out. Her body convulsed with each breath. Her throat ached. Her cries came in waves — sharp and uncontrollable.
She was alone.
The chairs in front of her were still there.
Empty.
Silent.
The pain strangled her throat.
The louder she cried, the quieter the house became.
Until even her sobs were crushed beneath that terrible, suffocating silence.