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They sat there for a long time, saying nothing.
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The apartment was silent except for the hum of pipes in the walls.
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Lena didn’t look at Marcus. She picked at the fraying seam on her sleeve, eyes red and swollen.
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Marcus kept his hand on her knee, grounding her.
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At some point, she let out a strangled sigh.
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“I hate this,” she whispered.
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“I know.”
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“I hate how weak I feel.”
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Marcus shook his head. “You’re not weak.”
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She scoffed, voice cracking. “Look at me.”
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“I am,” he said quietly. “I am looking at you. And I see someone who’s fighting like hell just to stay here.”
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Lena’s throat worked, but no sound came out.
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Marcus squeezed her knee gently.
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“You don’t have to pretend with me. Ever.”
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She closed her eyes, letting silent tears slide down her face.
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He didn’t flinch or pull away.
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He let her cry.
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A soft knock at the door made them both jump.
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Marcus looked over.
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“Who the hell—”
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“It’s probably Jenna,” Lena mumbled, voice hoarse.
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He got up carefully and opened the door.
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Their neighbor Jenna stood in the hall holding a small flashlight.
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“Sorry,” she said in a low voice. “I heard… I just wanted to check. Is everything okay?”
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Marcus hesitated.
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He glanced back at Lena, who sat hunched on the couch, rubbing her eyes.
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“We’re… we’re getting there,” Marcus said.
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Jenna’s expression softened. She looked at Lena.
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“I’m right next door if you need anything,” Jenna said gently. “Even if it’s just someone to sit with you.”
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Lena nodded once. She didn’t trust her voice.
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“Thank you,” Marcus said.
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Jenna gave them a sad little smile and backed away down the hall.
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Marcus closed the door and locked it.
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He turned back to Lena.
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“You’re not alone,” he said firmly.
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She sniffed. “I feel alone.”
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“I know.” He walked back to her and sat down again. “But I’m not leaving.”
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Lena wiped her nose on her sleeve.
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She didn’t argue.
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Didn’t tell him to go.
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Didn’t say thank you, either.
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She just shifted over an inch on the couch.
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Enough space for him to sit closer.
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Marcus took the hint and slid in beside her.
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They sat in the dark together, leaning just enough to feel the other’s warmth.
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Outside, the storm raged on.
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Inside, the quiet was still heavy.
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But it wasn’t empty anymore.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
This is the end of “When It Gets Too Quiet.” It’s fictional, but these feelings are real for many people. If you’re struggling, please talk to someone you trust. You matter. You’re not alone. 💛
ns216.73.217.4da2
and then Add to home screen.