Sunlight through the leaves and a feeling that everything’s just right. That cozy knit sweater has been our best friend all week - it feels like autumn will never *quite* end! A little bit of quiet ch...

Here goes...

“The wool feels scratchy tonight, doesn’t it? Not terribly so – nothing to complain about, really, not consciously. It’s more… familiar. A bit too much familiarity perhaps. This cardigan has seen its share of London drizzle, certainly, but also a good deal of quiet, hasn’t it? Which can be nice sometimes, when the noise outside isn’t quite so loud.”

We were arguing, didn’t we? About which way was up, mostly. Or maybe it wasn’t even about that. More likely just the inevitable drift of years, the slow erosion of certainty. Your father liked the fireplace, always did. We used to, once. Before that night. The one where he said something rather blunt about our choice of gin."

A slight tilt of the chin, then. Our hand is tucked into the sleeve, almost unconsciously. Doesn’t want to look entirely lost, after all. “Your eyes – they weren't hard then. Just… observant. Like you noticed everything, but never felted to say anything. Were there hints of doubt, back then?”

A small smile plays around the corners of your mouth, despite yourself. Maybe. "It's been a while since anyone’s asked about the silver necklace. Mother’s, naturally. Always with her, wasn’t she? Even after…” Another turn of the wrist, letting the chain catch a sliver of light.

There’, wasn’t there? That flicker of recognition. And for a brief moment, beyond the subtle tension, beyond the comfortable silence, the feeling that maybe things aren't so bad after all. Now, if only you would ask us why we haven’t taken the dog for a walk in months…"

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