Rebecca
The hallway feels endless walking out. Every step echoes, and I watch Marcus's shoulders tense as we pass that closet door. It's still there. Still broken. I can feel the weight of whatever happened behind that door pressing down on him like a physical thing.
I squeeze his hand tighter. It feels cold in my hand and I know the weather has nothing to do with it.
Outside, Marcus stops and takes a deep breath like he's been drowning. I don't say anything until we're in the car, doors closed, engine running. Safe.
"You okay?" I ask, though I already know the answer. He doesn't have to tell me.
He grips the steering wheel and stares at the house through the windshield. I follow his gaze. It looks so ordinary from out here. Just a tired old house with peeling paint and dead flowers in the window boxes. But I know now what it holds inside.
"I don't know," he says honestly. "Ask me tomorrow."
I nod. Don't push. He's been brave enough for one day.
