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𝗙rankie woke up before her alarm.
the room was still dark, washed in that early-morning gray that made everything feel far away. the fan hummed softly above her, stirring the quiet. for a second, she stayed stilljust breathing, just listening. there was no pain today, not in her leg, not in her body. just a quiet ache somewhere else. somewhere deeper.
a year ago today, danny died. and she was there when it happened.
she remembered the way his hand felt in hers, cold and too still. the way she whispered stories until the machines stopped humming. the way her mother had wrapped her arms around her after and held her like she was something breakable.
it had been the worst night of her life.
but today, it didn't hit like that. it wasn't sharp or unbearable. just... dull. quiet. like a shadow that followed her into the morning.
she pushed off the covers and stood. her bare feet hit the hardwood floor, and the absence of her cast made her pause. for months, it had been a reminder of everything of how fragile things could be. but now, with it gone, she felt lighter. not healed, exactly. but freer.
her black sundress was already waiting for her, folded neatly on the chair. she pulled it on without thinking, brushed out her hair, tied it back loosely. then she looked in the mirror.
her reflection stared back, still frankie. still the same girl who'd told him he could go if he was tired. who hadn't cried since the night he slipped away. not because she didn't care. but because the sadness had changed.
not loud. not crashing. just there. soft around the edges. a quiet missing. she blinked, turned, and went downstairs.
...
the kitchen was already full. not loud, but busy filled with that quiet kind of movement that only happens when people are trying to be gentle with each other.
lucas was stacking drinks into a cooler, his sleeves rolled up, a rubber band around his wrist. he looked over his shoulder when she came in, gave her the kind of smile that didn't need words.
ethan stood near the counter, organizing plates and utensils like he didn't trust himself to sit still. he glanced at her, quickly, and looked down again. she understood that. she understood all of it.
elle was at the kitchen table, unpacking a container of addison's buffalo chicken dip, the foil halfway peeled back, her nose crinkled in focus. there was sauce on her wrist and she hadn't noticed.
