“What time of the day is it?” Her frail mumble echoed nowhere in the abandoned room. She brushed the messy hair from her face, staring into the pitch darkness that offered no sign of escape. As she fumbled for her phone, she knocked over the leftover sip of vodka from the day before. When she finally managed to fetch her phone, it was long dead. Her migraine was paralyzing. Passing out after that extra drink wasn't unexpected, but a whole day’s sleep had dehydrated her soul. She struggled to rise from the floor but failed. “He was right. Covering the window panes with paper has nothing to do with shutting people out of your life,” she smirked. “Saying that he was gone forever. He wasn't just my husband; he was the only one I was in contact with.” After many failed attempts, she finally grabbed her drawing stand and stood up. She moved the black curtains, only to reveal the plastered windows that looked like someone’s failed attempt to fix her shattered life with b