2:03 a.m.

The phone buzzed.

You up?

The reply came almost immediately.

Yep. All good?

A few moments passed.

Not really. Mind if I come by?

Door's open.

Twenty minutes later, headlights turned into the driveway.

The engine shut off.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

The headlights stayed on.

Then came the echo of the car door closing in the stillness of the night.

The back door was already unlocked.

Two glasses came down from the cupboard.

A bottle of whiskey was set on the counter.

A modest pour into each.

No ice.

No toast.

Just the quiet sound of glass meeting the table.

They stepped outside.

The conversation barely began at all.

There were long stretches of silence.

A few unfinished thoughts.

Sentences that stopped halfway through.

Some details were shared.

Others tried to be forgotten.

It had been one of those shifts.

The kind that doesn't stay at work when the uniform comes off.

There wasn't any advice.

There wasn't an attempt to make sense of something that couldn't be explained.

It wasn't about finding the right words.

It was about not sitting alone.

The glasses were empty long before the sky began to brighten.

Eventually, it was time to go.

"Thanks."

A nod.

The walk back to the driveway was quiet.

The headlights disappeared into the morning.

Back inside, two empty glasses still sat on the kitchen counter.

They were rinsed.

Dried.

Put back in the cupboard.

Morning had arrived.