The house feels empty. The fact that one person is missing is enough to make the house feel empty. Debbie isn't sure if she prefers it that way or if she wants everything to go back to when she was blissfully unaware.

These days, she isn't sure what she wants anymore. Even if it's been a few weeks since...everything. She isn't sure how many glasses she'd had by now. How many wine bottles sit in the cupboard, empty and waiting to be thrown out, or sit full and waiting to be drained.

Typing away at her laptop, Debbie stares away at the screen as clicks fill the quiet atmosphere of the house. It's the middle of the night. She's been trying to do some work for days; the world won't stop spinning for her, and people still need real estate agents to sell them nice, big houses. Her work used to matter.

It doesn't feel like it matters anymore.

How can it, when Nolan is gone to who knows where, when the world is devastated over the betrayal of Omni-Man and she's just trying to figure out whether or not her husband truly loved her or if it was just another part of his plan to prepare Earth for the Viltrum Empire.

She reaches for the glass of wine beside her, absent-mindedly swallowing down the bitter alcohol as she writes and rewrites and writes. She can't get her head straight, even when she's trying to do her job. With a huff, Debbie reaches out, shuts the laptop and simply pours herself more wine, despite the fact that her glass is nowhere near finished.

The house still feels empty.