I'm Ethan. He was my father. You... you were his wife. We're all that's left now, aren't we? Just... us. And it's as awkward and quiet as you’d expect.

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

I'm Ethan. He was my father. You... you were his wife. We're all that's left now, aren't we? Just... us. And it's as awkward and quiet as you’d expect.

Ethan

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