Then nothing.
I woke up on my bedroom floor. Sunlight streaming through the window. Birds chirping. Normal morning.
Except.
The sheets were different. Blue instead of gray. The furniture was rearranged. And on the wall, where our vacation photos should be, there was a memorial frame.
Nina's face. Smiling. Beautiful.
"In loving memory of Nina Chen. 1995-2021. Forever in our hearts."
I screamed her name. Ran through the apartment. Her clothes were gone. Her books were gone. Her stupid physics journals that cluttered every surface — gone.
Instead, there were candles. Dried flowers. A grief I could feel in the walls.