It was Sunday morning. Two weeks since I'd spoken to Layla. Two days since I responded to Russel's texts. And somehow, both silences felt different. Spring had officially arrived, but the rain outside blurred the excitement. The gray skies pressed against my windows like a mood I couldn't shake. I wasn't in the mood for Pilates. I wasn't in the mood for conversations. I wasn't even in the mood to pretend. I stayed in my pajamas. Kept my hair wrapped in last night's scarf. But no matter how I feel, I will always make my bed. It's a ritual I refuse to neglect-one small way I can still show up for myself, even when everything else feels... off. I made my way into the kitchen, moving slower than usual, and reached for one of Noir Lux Coffee's Spring Collection blends. As it brewed, the smoked rich chocolate aroma wrapped around my apartment, softening the edges of my mood. Coffee has a way of doing that. I stood there, staring at my options-hot or iced. Somehow, even that felt like a decision I didn't want to make. By the time I finished my waffles and eggs, I settled on iced. A splash if hazelnut syrup, a slow stir, the sound of ice clinking against glass. Simple. Familiar. I turned on the TV, flipping through shows without really watching any of them. Just letting the noise fill the silence. Then my phone rang. Layla. I stared at her name for a moment before answering. "Hey..." her voice was softer than I remembered. "Hey," I replied, matching her tone. "Can I come over?" she asked. No explanation. No buildup. Just... can I come over? Something in her voice told me not to ask questions. "Yeah", I said. "Come." About thirty minutes later, there was a knock at the door. When I opened it, Layla stood there looking... different. Not physically-but emotionally. Like something had been taken from her. I stepped aside and let her in without a word. She sat on the couch, hands folded tightly, eyes scanning the room like she was trying to find the right place to land. "Do you want coffee?" I asked gently. She nodded. I poured her a cup over ice, just how she liked it, and placed it in her hands. She held it but didn't drink. "I had a miscarriage," she said. Just like that. No warning. No cushion. The words dropped between us, heavy and final. My body stilled. "I didn't even know how to call you," she continued. "It felt... bittersweet. Like part of me was relieved... and the other part felt guilty for feeling that way." Her voice cracked. "I didn't love him, September. I didn't want that life with him... but it still feels like I lost something." I moved closer to her, wrapping in my arms around her without thinking. Grief doesn't always come from love. Sometimes it comes from what could have been. "I'm here," I whispered. And for a while, we just sat there. No advice. No fixing. Just presence. Eventually, she pulled away, wiping her face. "I missed you," she said quietly. "I missed you too," I admitted. There was a pause-one that felt like it was holding more than just her pain. Then she looked at me. "Have you talked to Russel?" I shook my head. "Not really." She hesitated. And that hesitation felt familiar. "What?" I asked. Layla exhaled slowly. "I wasn't going to say anything today... but I don't think you should be the last to know." My chest tightened. "Know what?" She looked down at her cup before meeting my eyes again. "I saw him." Everything inside me went still. "Saw him...where? I asked carefully. She swallowed. "With her." The rain outside suddenly felt louder. And just like that... my quiet Sunday wasn't quiet anymore and my mood was right where it started.