The house was too quiet after Chloe left.
Her perfume still lingered faintly in the air, the imprint of her laugh still echoed in the walls, but when the front door closed behind her, the silence pressed in. Too heavy. Too absolute.
I stood by the window for a long time, watching her car disappear down the driveway, feeling that strange hollow ache again. Like someone had taken the only bit of color left in me and carried it away.
And then—
"Still staring?"
I startled, spinning around. Liam was leaning against the doorframe, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled, his expression unreadable. He didn't look like someone who had just gotten back from work—he looked like someone who owned the air in the room.
"I didn't hear you come in," I muttered.
"Clearly." His voice was calm, low, with that steady rhythm that always made me feel both nervous and… seen. "You've been standing there for ten minutes. You'll burn holes through the glass if you keep at it."
I folded my arms, defensive. "I wasn't—"
"You were," he interrupted softly, but there was no mockery in his tone. Just fact. "She'll be back, Emma."
I sighed, dropping onto the sofa. "You always make things sound so simple."
"They usually are," he said, walking into the room. His movements were precise, controlled, like he never wasted an ounce of energy. "People complicate them."
His presence filled the space so effortlessly, I hated how aware of him I was.
I looked down at my hands, fiddling with the edge of my sleeve. "It doesn't feel simple. Nothing about this feels simple. I can't just… move on. Not after everything."
Liam stopped in front of me, watching me with eyes that gave away nothing. He didn't kneel. He didn't hover. He just stood there, tall and unwavering, like some unshakable wall.
"You think moving on means forgetting," he said finally.
I looked up sharply. "Doesn't it?"
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "No. It means surviving in spite of it. Carrying the weight without letting it drown you."
The words pierced deeper than I expected.
My voice broke before I could stop it. "I don't know if I can do that."
Something flickered in his eyes then—something sharp, almost dangerous, but it softened just enough that I knew it wasn't anger. It was… conviction.
"You can," he said simply. "You're stronger than you think."
I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. "Everyone keeps telling me that. Peter. Chloe. Edward. Even strangers look at me like I'm some fragile phoenix that'll rise from the ashes. But they don't know what it feels like inside my head. They don't know how empty it gets."
Silence stretched. And then Liam did something I didn't expect.
He sat beside me. Not too close, not invading—but close enough that the air shifted. He didn't reach for my hand. He didn't offer comfort like everyone else had. He just… sat there, his presence solid, steady, unmoving.
"You're right," he said at last. "They don't know."
I blinked at him, thrown off.
"But I do," he continued. His gaze stayed locked on me, piercing and deliberate. "I know what it's like to live with silence so loud it eats at your bones. To watch the world move on without you. To feel abandoned, even by the people who were supposed to stay."
Something in his tone made my chest tighten. A quiet storm hid beneath those words, like he was telling me more than he should.
"Liam…" I whispered, but the rest of the sentence got lost in my throat.
He leaned back slightly, his jaw setting again. Whatever vulnerability had slipped out, he tucked it away in an instant. "This house isn't just mine anymore. It's yours too. Don't waste that chance by letting ghosts keep you captive."
My throat burned. "And what if I can't live up to it? What if I keep breaking?"
His lips curved, but it wasn't really a smile. It was something darker, sharper. "Then break. And break again. As many times as it takes. But every time, you'll put yourself back together differently. Stronger."
The silence between us was heavy, but not suffocating. His words settled over me like chains and wings at the same time—binding me, yet somehow setting me free.
And for the first time since Mom's funeral, I felt something dangerous spark inside me. Not hope. Not peace. Something else.
A quiet, unyielding fire.
Liam stood after a while, his voice steady. "Dinner will be late. Don't skip it."
He didn't wait for me to answer. He just walked out, leaving the weight of his words behind, echoing louder than the silence ever had.
I sat there long after he left, staring at the space he'd occupied. My chest was tight, my heart was restless, and for the first time… I didn't feel entirely broken.
I felt something else.
Something I wasn't ready to name.