Isaac unlocked his apartment door, the echo of the lock clicking back like a sigh in the empty room. The city glittered through the windows, cold, distant, unreachable as always. He loosened his tie, set it neatly on the counter, and stood there for a moment. The kitchen light flicked on with a hum. Stainless steel gleamed back at him, spotless, unused. He remembered Mina's teasing voice from earlier that day, "Still, you could hire a housekeeper! It's sad not to eat meals at your house, no?"
He'd brushed it off then. But now, in the silence, those words clung to him.
He opened the fridge. There were a few water bottles, an unopened jar of jam, and a carton of eggs that might've expired weeks ago. His reflection on the metal surface looked strangely foreign, someone surrounded by abundance yet never full. "…I don't cook," he muttered, as if saying it aloud could still excuse it.
But tonight, it didn't feel like an excuse.
