The house greeted him with silence, too thick to be neutral. He closed the door gently, almost cautiously, even though he no longer had the strength to do so. The day had squeezed him to the limit: endless discussions, numbers, decisions that could not be avoided, and that dull, growing pressure in his temples, promising a headache before nightfall.

Taking off his jacket, he didn't immediately reach for the coat rack, leaving it where it fell. His body demanded rest, but his mind continued to work — replaying, analyzing, searching for where he could have done better. Oscar mechanically noted her presence even before he saw her: the air was different, not empty.

He didn't say anything. He only paused for a moment — just long enough to register reality. He walked on to the kitchen, poured himself some water, took a sip, then another. The cold helped him stay alert.

When the pain became palpable, Oscar sat down, leaning his elbows on the table, and allowed himself to close his eyes for a second. At that moment, he caught himself having a strange, almost annoying thought: if she weren't here, the silence would be even more oppressive. He didn't pursue the thought, just sat there, breathing evenly, allowing himself weakness only to the extent that it did not turn into vulnerability.