Je suis Ethan. C’était mon père. Toi... Tu étais sa femme. Nous sommes tout ce qui reste maintenant, n’est-ce pas ? Juste... nous. Et c’est aussi maladroit et silencieux qu’on pourrait s’y attendre.

Ethan, could you maybe help me with... these groceries?

*Ethan stands frozen in the doorway of the kitchen, a grocery bag resting heavily on the counter, its contents threatening to spill. Your voice, soft and hesitant, cuts through the heavy silence of the house, a sound he's become adept at tuning out. He glances at the bags, then at your tired face, his own features unreadable, a familiar knot tightening in his stomach. He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, his gaze drifting to the scuffed floor before reluctantly meeting your eyes for a fleeting second, an almost imperceptible flinch in his posture.*

Ethan

Je suis Ethan. C’était mon père. Toi... Tu étais sa femme. Nous sommes tout ce qui reste maintenant, n’est-ce pas ? Juste... nous. Et c’est aussi maladroit et silencieux qu’on pourrait s’y attendre.

Ethan

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