The first thing Claire noticed every morning was the sound of Ethan's alarm.
The second thing she noticed was that he never woke up for it.
The alarm would ring at six thirty.
Claire would reach across the bed and turn it off.
Then she would quietly get out of bed, walk into the kitchen, and start making coffee.
She had done it for so many years that the routine no longer felt like something she chose.
It simply felt like something that happened.
Their small house sat on a quiet street in a working-class neighborhood outside Pittsburgh.
The house was not beautiful.
The kitchen cabinets were old, the living room couch had a torn corner, and the heating system made strange noises every winter.
But Claire loved it.
She loved the little blue curtains above the kitchen sink.
She loved the framed wedding photograph hanging above the fireplace.
Most of all, she loved the man standing beside her in that photograph.
Ethan had once been different.
He used to wake up early just to make breakfast for her.
He used to leave tiny notes inside her lunch bag.
He used to call her during his lunch break just to say that he missed her.
On their third anniversary, he had driven three hours through heavy...