went inside, set my coffee on the kitchen counter, and opened all the windows.
Cool air moved through the rooms, lifting the curtains.
Somewhere outside, a dog barked once and then settled.
I stood there listening to the quiet, and I understood something simple and permanent.
He had walked into my hospital room believing weakness looked like stillness.
He had never learned the difference between someone who is broken and someone who is waiting.
I had.
And that is why I was still standing in my own house when the noise of him was gone.
