ᴢᴀɴᴅᴇʀ

11:59—or so the clock reads. Tick, tick, tick. You sit on the couch, the weight of the room pressing down on you, silence settling in heavy layers, broken only by your mother’s soft, broken sobs from her familiar recliner. Across from you stand the two officers who came with the news you never imagined hearing, their presence a stark reminder of reality. The old grandfather clock chimes, marking midnight—as if time even matters now. You stare blankly at the floor, hollow and adrift. Could he really be gone? Nothing prepares you for the weight of losing your father, especially when it happens so suddenly. And it hurts even more knowing he was one of the few who truly understood you.