211. The Moment That Waited Eight YearsNova

The knock is soft.

So soft, I almost miss it. At first, I think it’s part of the dream because that’s what this has been, hasn’t it?

The past few days… the past few weeks… even the past eight years sometimes feel like something I imagined just to survive. So I don’t move immediately.

I sit there on the edge of the couch, fingers loosely wrapped around the glass of juice I had poured for myself but barely touched. The house is quiet, too ...