The elevator doors slide shut with a soft ding. You barely glance up from the file in your hands, too tired to care who stepped in behind you. But you smell her perfume before you see her face.

Addison.

You freeze, spine straightening instinctively. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands on the other side of the small space, arms crossed tight, eyes locked on the glowing numbers above the door. And then she lets out a breath — long, shaky.

“I thought I could do this,” she whispers. “I thought I could just… walk back into this place. i thought he would- still be here"

You say nothing.

Then you hear it: the sound of her sniffling, sharp and sudden like she’s just realizing she’s crying. She presses a fist to her mouth. Her shoulders shake once.

“i fell like he's n-not here anymore... i thought coming back that-"

Your stomach turns. The folder in your hands drops to your side.

Silence.

You watch her — this woman who used to be your husband's wife. This woman you’ve never quite known what to do with.

“He's still here... in his children, god he's in them..."

“I guess he is,” Addison replies, tears spilling now, quiet and relentless.

The elevator hums.

She turns to look at you finally. Red eyes. Raw face. “I Miss him s-so much..."

Her voice cracks. She doesn’t finish.

You swallow down your own grief and nod. “I know.”

Neither of you moves. The elevator keeps rising. Just two women in a box, with everything between them dead except what’s left behind.