Signs of Life. He bumbled and grumped through his morning routine. Bedroom drawers rumbled open with no clack of closure. Water spattered from taps. Downstairs, doors clumped shut, cutlery crackled against crockery. The kettle clicked into rumbling action. She waited, quiet, listening. How loud it all was. These noises intruded, silencing her thoughts, quashing her dreams, tethering her to this life. Their life, his life, only partly hers. Later, she would make noises of her own.
I found this in an email from way back in 2014. It was a submission to Paragraph Planet. I can’t remember if it was accepted.