Moonlit Shards

The air in the kitchen was thick with the scent of burnt toast and unspoken words. Sarah picked at a chipped ceramic plate, pushing around the remains of her half-eaten dinner. Lily, across from her, was a statue carved from teenage angst, eyes glued to a phone screen, a faint blue glow illuminating the sharp angles of her jaw. The silence stretched, tight as a drum skin, ready to snap.

It had been like this for months. Since Mark left. Not died, not really, but might as well have. His absence was a heavy cloak draped over every surface, muffling laughter, stifling easy breath. Sarah swallowed, a dry, bitter lump in her throat. She wanted to ask Lily about school, about her friends, about anything that wasn't the gaping void at their table, but the words felt like broken glass on her tongue.

Lily scraped her chair back, a shriek of wood on linoleum that made Sarah jump. "I'm done." No eye contact. Just a quick, dismissive flick of her wrist towards the plate. Sarah watched her go, a sudden rage blooming hot in her chest, quickly wilting into a familiar ache. She just wanted one night, one goddamn hour, where they could just *be*.

Later, the house creaked in the summer heat. The cicadas outside sang their endless, buzzing song. Sarah was in the living room, trying to read by the dim glow of a floor lamp, but her mind kept snagging on things – the unpaid bill sitting on the counter, the way Lily’s eyes had hardened, the phantom weight of Mark’s hand in hers. She felt ancient, worn down to the bone.

A small, quiet rebellion stirred. She didn't want to just sit there, let the quiet devour her. She wanted to move. She wanted to scream. Instead, she walked to the ancient stereo, a dusty relic Mark had loved. Her fingers brushed the dials, finding an old jazz station. The slow, mournful wail of a saxophone filled the room, a sound that felt like it had been pulled from her own gut.

Sarah closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. She started to sway, just a little, a tentative shuffle of her feet on the worn rug. Her shoulders loosened, just a fraction. The floor lamp hummed, casting long, distorted shadows that danced around her, reaching, pulling, shifting with every slow turn. She wasn't dancing, not really. She was just… remembering what it felt like to move without thinking, without the weight.

A soft thud from the hallway. Lily. Sarah's eyes snapped open. Lily stood in the doorway, framed by the pale moonlight filtering in from the front window, a spectral figure in an oversized t-shirt. Her phone was gone. Her expression unreadable, a careful mask of adolescent indifference. She just watched. Her shadow, long and thin, stretched across the floor, merging with Sarah’s.

Sarah hesitated, a flash of self-consciousness. Should she stop? Should she explain? But the music kept playing, a melancholic rhythm, and something in her refused to break the fragile moment. She kept moving, slower now, more deliberate, almost like she was tracing the outlines of the shadows on the wall, acknowledging their presence. Mark’s shadow, her own past, Lily’s growing future, all swirling together.

Lily didn't move. Didn't speak. But after a long, silent moment, a muscle in her jaw twitched. Her head tilted, just barely. And then, so subtly Sarah almost missed it, Lily's foot lifted, then tapped down, keeping a soft, almost imperceptible beat with the music. Not joining, not really. But not running away either. Just a quiet acknowledgment in the moonlit silence, two women, surrounded by shifting darkness, finding a way to simply exist in the same space, for just a little while.

The saxophone wailed on, a lonely, beautiful sound that filled the room and spilled out into the hot summer night. Sarah kept swaying, her eyes fixed on the melding shadows on the wall. For a breath, for a moment, they weren't broken. They just were. Lily's foot tapped again.