The silence in these rooms feels heavier now, a thick blanket woven from memories and empty space. I hear the faint, cheerful clatter of dishes from next door, the low murmur of a television, a sudden burst of laughter that slices through my own quiet. It’s a reminder of a life that used to echo within these walls. Now, the only sounds are the ones I make, and they are never quite enough to fill the house built for four.