Outside, the city hummed faintly through the window. Inside, the only light came from a lamp in the corner, warm but not enough to soften the cold that had settled into the space over the last few months.

An old photograph sat on the table. Two people, both smiling. The frame was cheap, the kind picked up on a whim because the moment had felt important enough to keep.

It had been.

Now it just sat there, gathering dust, impossible to throw away and impossible to look at for too long.

The doorbell rang.

Once. Then again, after a pause. Like whoever was outside wasn't sure they should be there.