I broke the silence with a short cough. If anyone else had been in the sunlit room with me, they would have started and stared as if I’d broken a silence not meant to be disturbed.

I stepped into the doorway, my socks making soft patting noises on the wood floor. I brushed my fingers on the rough white walls, slowly so that I could feel every groove, every contortion that there was. In the corner sat an old four poster bed clothed in a white comforter with one white pillow. I slowly made my way to the bed and gingerly climbed on top of it while it creaked beneath my weight.

I looked around the once familiar room. The old lamp sat on the same nightstand, and the white curtain still hung on the white rods, enveloping the white windowpanes. The sun, usually a comfort, one that was warm, washed the bare room out.

The silence was back. No birds, no laughter, no music, no voices. Even the yelling would have been preferred to this.