Miles stood at the sink, drying his hands with a towel so threadbare it looked like it belonged to another lifetime. He noticed the extra place.

“This one’s for Elise?” he asked softly, like the wrong tone might break something fragile in the room.

I didn’t answer. Just nodded, eyes locked on the setting in front of me. The table looked too perfect.

The meatloaf steamed in the center, the scent tugging at memories.