Pene sat on the porch as the sun climbed higher, casting long shadows over the dirt road. The air was heavy with the scent of blooming flowers and the distant sound of children playing. Yet, here she was, trapped in a body that wasn’t hers anymore, in a life she hadn’t asked for. 

Chris had left long ago, still grinning that wild grin, promising her “research” in exchange for a dead woman’s hand. The thought lingered in Pene’s mind, sharp and uncomfortable. 

She was too tired to care, really. Tired of the endless cycle, the empty gestures of kindness from her children, the pitying glances from strangers. They looked at her as if she were some kind of symbol, as though she were more than just another person struggling to make sense of a world that no longer made sense to her. 

Rita came out with another cup of tea, but Pene didn’t look up. She didn’t want more tea. Didn’t want anything, really. But she accepted it anyway. Maybe it would ease the tightness in her chest, maybe it wouldn’t. 

"You’re quieter today," Rita said, sitting down in the chair beside her. 

Pene took a sip, the warm liquid burning its way down her throat. "I’m always quiet," she said. 

"You know what I mean." 

Pene didn’t answer. There was nothing to say. 

"You’re not angry, are you?" Rita’s voice had softened. 

"Angry?" Pene chuckled, a dry, hollow sound. "I’m not angry. I’m… I’m just tired, Rita. I’ve been angry for too long. What good is it doing me?" 

Rita studied her, her gaze unwavering. "I thought you didn’t want this. That you wanted to die." 

Pene’s hand trembled around the cup, the porcelain cold against her fingers. "I don’t know what I want anymore. I thought dying would be the end of it. I thought if I could just… go, I’d be free. But now, here I am. Still breathing. Still… here." 

"You didn’t choose this," Rita said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But you’re still here. And you’re still part of us. Don’t you want to be here, even if it’s hard?" 

Pene glanced at her, her lips twisting into something like a bitter smile. "What do you think I’ve been doing all this time? Choosing?" 

Rita didn’t respond, but the silence between them stretched, heavy and unspoken.

The door to the house creaked open behind them. Emanuel stepped out, his gaze flicking nervously from Pene to Rita. He hesitated before speaking.

"Mother," he said softly. "I’ve been thinking. Maybe… maybe it’s time we talk about the next step. About what we do now." 

Pene didn’t turn to look at him. "The next step," she repeated, her voice thick with exhaustion. "Is there really a next step, Emanuel? Can’t we just stop pretending that everything is normal? I’m dead, and yet… here I am, stuck between two worlds. I can’t do anything with that." 

Emanuel shifted on his feet, unsure how to respond. "You’re still… with us. We’re still here. Don’t you want to—" 

"No," Pene cut him off. "I don’t want anything from you. You’re just trying to fix what can’t be fixed. I’ve been dead, Emanuel. And you can’t undo that. Not with your promises. Not with your hopes." 

There was a long silence, and Pene felt the weight of it, thick and suffocating. Her son stood there, unmoving, and she didn’t know if it was because he didn’t have the words to argue with her or if he, too, had lost hope. 

"I’m not asking for your forgiveness, Pene," Emanuel said quietly, his voice strained. "I’m just trying to make sense of all of this. We’re all trying. I need you to help me make sense of it." 

Pene finally turned to him, her gaze sharp and piercing. "You want me to make sense of this? There is no sense. There’s just… nothing." 

She looked back down at her tea, her hand gripping the cup until her knuckles went white. 

Emanuel stood there a moment longer before he turned and walked back inside without another word. 

Rita, too, rose to leave, but Pene stopped her. 

"Stay," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Just… stay with me. For a little while longer." 

Rita nodded, sitting back down without protest. She didn’t say anything, just let the silence settle between them. 

Pene stared at the empty road, the people passing by. Some glanced at her. Some didn’t. None of them knew what it was like to be her. To exist outside of time. To be both alive and dead. 

But they never asked. They didn’t want to know. 

In that moment, Pene realized that she didn’t really want them to know, either. The weight of it all was too much. Too much to share. Too much to explain.

She closed her eyes, just for a moment, and let the sound of the wind pass over her. She had been silent for so long that it was almost a relief. 

But even in the silence, she knew there was no escaping it. Not ever.