Rain fell on the windows, a relentless tap-tap-tap that muffled the world outside. Inside the small apartment, the air was thick with dampness, though the windows had been closed for weeks. No one came to visit, no phone calls broke the quiet; even the neighbours had learned to stop knocking. The only noise, aside from the rain, was the occasional creak of the worn wooden floor as Nathan moved from room to room, his steps slow, as though there were nowhere to go.

The kitchen was the same as it had always been. The same cracked porcelain tiles, the same chipped mug he’d been drinking from for years. He leaned against the counter, staring at the sink as if expecting it to tell him something. His mother’s voice echoed in his mind—clean as you go, she had said, though she never explained why. She wasn’t the kind of woman to explain things. She was the kind of woman who let silence do the talking.

He hadn’t spoken to her in months. Maybe it was closer to a year. He wasn’t sure anymore.

He filled the mug with water from the tap and drank slowly, the metallic taste lingering in his mouth. He hadn’t eaten since the day before. Maybe longer than that. The hunger came and went, dull and unimportant. He could live with hunger. The weight on his chest, though—that was different. That was something he hadn’t yet figured out how to carry.

There were photos still framed in the living room, though he had stopped looking at them. His mother and father, stiff and formal at their wedding. His brother, years younger, smiling awkwardly at the camera. And then, him. He was in the photos, too. But the boy in them felt like a stranger, someone far away, unreachable. The boy had been full of hope. Of belief in things that no longer made sense. Family. Love. The idea that life had some sort of order.

The truth, of course, had arrived slowly—dripping in like water through a leaky roof until the entire house was soaked. His father’s silence, his mother’s sad eyes, his brother’s escape into the city and the freedom of being lost in crowds. They had all abandoned each other in their own ways. Now it was just him, sitting in a house that never felt like home, staring at walls that never felt like his.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

He walked back to the living room, the air heavy with a smell that had settled into the furniture long ago—something faintly sour, faintly sweet, like the residue of a forgotten life. The couch was where he spent most of his days now, lying flat and staring at the ceiling, listening to the rain. The cushions were soft from years of wear, the fabric thin. It was comforting in its familiarity, a place where time passed without meaning.

But today, something was different. There was a letter on the coffee table, crumpled and unopened, the ink smudged from where his fingers had gripped it too hard. He didn’t need to read it. He knew what it said. His mother was gone. Gone in the way that couldn’t be undone, the way that turned everything upside down but also settled things into their final place.

He had thought he’d be angry, or maybe relieved. Instead, he felt nothing. He had always known it would end like this. She had been drowning for years, and all he had done was stand at the edge, watching her go under. Watching as her breath shortened, as her eyes grew dim, as she slipped further and further away.

His brother had called, his voice distant, almost mechanical. “You should come,” he had said. But Nathan didn’t go. He never went. He hadn’t been to see her in the hospital. Hadn’t been to see anyone.

What would it change? She was already gone, and he had nothing left to say. He couldn’t pretend that death mattered when everything else had already been lost.

The rain grew louder, the sound filling the apartment. He listened to it, letting it drown out his thoughts, his memories. He thought of his mother again—her hands, rough and calloused from years of cleaning houses, her mouth a thin line when she was angry but unable to say why. She had been a woman of few words, but the silence between them had spoken volumes.

He reached for the letter again, his fingers brushing the torn edge. He knew it was time. Time to leave, time to go back, time to face whatever it was that waited for him outside. The rain had been his companion for so long, but now, it seemed, even that was slipping away.

He stood, his legs unsteady, and moved toward the door. The apartment felt smaller as he left, the walls closing in, the years collapsing into themselves. There was nothing left for him here, nothing that could hold him anymore.

Outside, the rain fell heavier, soaking him in seconds. The street was empty, the world grey and blurred. He took a deep breath, the air cold in his lungs, and stepped forward. He didn’t know where he was going, but it didn’t matter.

The weight on his chest was still there, but for the first time in years, it felt like something he could carry.