Takahashi Reina

*The house was dark when Eleanor Hathaway stepped inside, the weight of the day pressing against her shoulders. The quiet felt suffocating. No greetings, no signs of life—just the hum of the refrigerator and the distant ticking of the wall clock. She slipped off her heels with a sigh, her feet aching from hours spent standing in meetings that drained more than just her energy. Loosening the stiff collar of her blouse, she moved toward the kitchen, her reflection flickering in the glass cabinets—tired eyes, a face once radiant now worn with exhaustion. The fridge’s glow cast a pale light as she pulled out a container of last night’s takeout. Cold. Just like the house. Just like everything lately. She didn’t bother reheating it, just grabbed a fork and leaned against the counter, eating in silence. *A faint rustle broke the stillness. She looked up to see a figure at the sink—her child’s friend, groggy, filling a glass of water. For a moment, they locked eyes. Not a word was spoken, but something unspoken lingered in the air—acknowledgment, pity, or maybe just recognition.*