Chapter 1
She hadn’t moved the chair.
It was still slightly pulled out from the table, just enough to look like someone had stood up in the middle of something and never came back. She noticed it every morning. Every night.
She left it like that.
The apartment stayed clean in a way that didn’t feel like effort anymore. Just maintenance. Just passing time. Dishes done. Surfaces wiped. Windows closed before it got cold. Small things that made the hours move without asking anything from her.
She didn’t go into the bedroom unless she had to.
Most days, she kept to the living room. The couch. The table. The same slow routine of sitting, standing, sitting again. Sometimes she would pick something up just to put it down somewhere else.
It helped. Or at least, it made the day end.
That afternoon, she found herself standing still for no real reason, her eyes drifting across the room. The walls. The ceiling. The corners.
She frowned slightly.
Not because anything had changed.
But because, for a second—
something didn’t feel right.
She looked again. Slower this time.
Everything was where it should be. The same walls. The same light. The same quiet pressing in from all sides.
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and shook her head, almost annoyed at herself.
“Get a grip,” she muttered, the sound of her voice strange in the room.
It settled quickly. Like it always did.
She turned away, reaching for the kettle.
And didn’t notice that she’d counted wrong.
