TDSMC

When the police knocked on Ethan Miller’s door at 6:42 a.m., he already knew somebody had died. It’s strange how the body senses these things before the mind does. The knocking wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t aggressive either. It was calm. Professional. The kind of knock that delivers news you can’t undo. He opened the door in yesterday’s T-shirt, coffee untouched on the table behind him. “Mr. Miller?” the older officer asked. “Yes.” “We’re sorry to inform you that your mother, Helen Miller, passed away early this morning.” The words didn’t land right away. They hovered in the doorway like smoke. “How?” Ethan asked. “Heart attack. Neighbors heard a fall around 4 a.m. Paramedics arrived within minutes, but she was already gone.” Ethan nodded slowly. No tears. No shock. Just a hollow pressure behind his ribs. She had died alone. After the paperwork, the condolences, the awkward silence, and the offer for someone to drive him to the station, Ethan stayed standing in the ...