I walked to the cake, picked up the silver knife, and cut one clean slice. I set it on a china plate and sat down again. The vanilla sponge tasted dry, though I knew it wasn’t.

Sugar turns to ash when you eat it beside an empty chair.

With the final bite, something inside me shifted.

Not loudly. Not dramatically.

A door closed.

I carried the plate to the kitchen, rinsed it, set it in the dishwasher, and went back to the dining room. The untouched meal stayed exactly where it was.