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THE MORNING ARRIVED WRAPPED IN an unsettling quiet, a stillness that settled deep in my bones and refused to let go. The house felt heavier today as if the walls were holding their breath, waiting for something—though I couldn't say for what. Gregor's door remained locked, a silent sentinel keeping us all at a distance. The hallway outside his room had turned into a forbidden space, filled with the weight of unanswered questions and an unshakable sense of dread.
With a tray of food in my hands, I stood before his door, the faint steam from the broth drifting upward. The bread was still warm, though I knew it would likely remain untouched. I had prepared it carefully this time, folding the napkin neatly and arranging everything as if organizing the tray could somehow bridge the growing chasm between us.
“Gregor,” I called softly, my voice trembling. “It’s me, Grete. Please… please say something.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Not even the faint rustle from the night before, the faintest hint of life, dared to break through. It felt like the air in the house had solidified, becoming a barrier that held us apart.
I set the tray down gently, the clink of the bowl against the porcelain louder than I intended. The sound made me flinch as though I had disturbed something fragile, something that couldn't bear to be touched. I stood there momentarily, my hand resting lightly on the door, hoping for—no, willing—a response. But there was nothing—only the oppressive stillness.
"Still no word?" Father's gruff voice startled me. I saw him standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His expression was a mixture of frustration and something more profound—something I couldn't quite place. It was there in the tightening of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, a sharpness that cut through the air.
I shook my head, unable to find the right words. The disappointment on his face felt like a reproach, though I couldn't tell if it was aimed at Gregor or me.
“Useless,” he muttered, the word hanging in the air, heavy with bitterness.
His judgment stung more than I cared to admit, but I kept quiet. What could I say? What difference would it make? The weight of Gregor's silence was dragging us all down, and I didn't have the strength to fight it.
Downstairs, the tension was palpable. The clatter of dishes echoed through the kitchen, sharp and loud, as if every crash of porcelain was a commentary on the state of our house. The housemaid muttered, her words loud enough to reach me.
"Unnatural, that's what it is," she said. "A grown man locking himself away like that. It makes you wonder what's going on."
Her words struck a nerve, but I swallowed the retort that rose in my throat. What could she possibly understand? How could she, when I didn’t even understand it myself?
“Enough,” Mother snapped, her voice sharper than I’d heard in months. “You’re here to clean, not to gossip.”
The housemaid fell silent, but her disapproval lingered like a thick, suffocating dark cloud. I wanted to defend Gregor, to tell her she was wrong. But how could I protect him when I didn't know what I was defending anymore?
The day dragged on, the silence from upstairs seeping into every corner of the house. I tried to lose myself in the familiar motions—scrubbing, cooking, folding—but it was useless. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant sound, seemed like a reminder of the door I couldn't open and the brother I couldn't reach.
By late afternoon, I found myself back in the hallway, the tray of food now cold, the bread stale, the broth long since cooled into an unappetizing lump. I lowered myself to the floor beside it, hugging my knees. The cold wood pressed against my skin, but nothing compared to the chill inside me.
“I don’t know what to do anymore,” I whispered, my voice barely audible in the oppressive quiet. “You’ve always been the strong one, Gregor. I don’t know how to hold everything together without you.”
The words hung in the air, unanswered. I closed my eyes, imagining Gregor's response. I could almost see the tired smile that would pull at the corners of his mouth, the same smile he gave when he carried a burden that should have been mine. He always bore more than his share, never telling us how much it cost him. But now, that burden had crushed him, and I was left trying to pick up the pieces, not even knowing where to begin.
That night, the house felt darker than usual. The faint light from the streetlamp outside cast jagged shadows across the walls, and every creak of the floorboards, every tiny sound, seemed amplified in the silence. I couldn't sleep. Instead, I paced the hallway, my bare feet cold against the wooden floor. I stopped outside Gregor's door, my hand hovering over the doorknob. I wanted to open it, see him, and fix whatever was broken. But I couldn't. The fear of what I might find on the other side kept me frozen.
"Grete?" Mother's voice broke through the silence, fragile and thin. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, pale and drawn. "Come to bed, dear. You'll make yourself sick."
I hesitated, torn between staying and following her. Finally, I nodded and turned away from the door, knowing I wouldn't find rest. How could I when the weight of everything was pressing down on me?
The following day, hushed voices woke me. Father was speaking, his tone low and sharp with anger.
"We have to do something," he said. "We can't go on like this."
“And what do you suggest?” Mother’s voice was tired, laced with exhaustion. “Banging on his door? Forcing him out? He’s our son.”
The chill in their words sliced through me. I dressed quickly, my hands shaking as I tied my laces. What was Father planning? Was he going to force Gregor out? The thought tightened my chest.
But when I stepped into the hallway, I froze. The tray outside Gregor’s door was gone.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe. My heart pounded as I stared at the space where it had been. "Gregor?" I whispered, my voice trembling, barely audible.
There was no answer, but I thought I heard a faint shuffle, a whisper of movement behind the door. It wasn't much, but enough to spark a flicker of hope deep inside me. Maybe Gregor wasn't as lost as I feared.
For the first time in days, I believed in the possibility of change. Perhaps the silence wasn't permanent. Maybe it wasn't the end. And for now, that tiny spark of hope was enough to keep me going.
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