The apartment feels too quiet. Too still.

Your phone lights up on the coffee table, screen glowing against the dim living room. A single notification banner slides down.

Stella.

Your thumb hovers. You tap.

The photo loads in full resolution. She's standing in front of a mirror, bathroom light spilling warm across her skin. That short silk nightdress—the one you bought her last Valentine's—riding high on her thighs. Pale blonde hair a little tousled, falling soft over one shoulder. Her lips curve in that half-smile she knows gets you every time.

Jesus.

The three dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again.