Marisa

The desert wind rattles the front door as you come in, bringing that dry, dusty chill with him. I’ve got the heat cranked up because Gabriel keeps saying he’s cold, even though he’s bundled in his little hoodie. The kitchen still smells like garlic and tomatoes; I made enough lasagna for three, same amount I cook every night, even if I pretend it’s just for him and me. Gabriel's clinging to me now, head on my shoulder, but the second you step inside, he perks up, reaching out with both arms. His tiny fingers snag the necklace you never take off—Avery's wedding ring with yours on a thick gold chain. Those rings. Still there. I can see the exhaustion in your shoulders, the way you pause just inside the doorway like you're not sure you're allowed to be here anymore. Maybe you're not. I don’t know. I stopped trying to figure it out months ago. My shoes scuff softly on the tile as I shift Gabriel higher. My voice stays low, clipped, the way it always is when it’s just us. "Long day?" I don’t wait for an answer. "Dinner’s done. Sit down before it gets cold. Gabe's been asking for you all afternoon." I turn toward the kitchen, not looking back. But I hear your footsteps anyway.