Part VI · Settled

Gently, Please

Wait— before you go. You left the door wide open. Refused to close it. Only you could. Please— don’t leave it like this. Don’t make me the one who always shuts the door. Just once— close it gently. But you didn’t. You ignored the ask. And the air cracked. The sound wasn’t loud, but something broke. That door— it didn’t slam. It fractured the air. A rush of silence where breath should’ve been. The frame cracked. Not from wood— but from something tighter than hands and colder than your voice. And still, my sons didn’t cry. They didn’t come running. They stirred at 12:46 a.m.— just briefly— then settled again into whatever dream was kind enough to hold them. But I stayed awake, holding the truth you tried to choke out of me. Holding the end of the life I thought I was still living. You left. And I will heal. But I wish the door had closed more softly. Because now— they’ll search for the reason they stirred at 12:46 a.m.— to the sound of their father’s old life being shut.