By the time I landed, the Florida heat wrapped around me like a heavy blanket.
The taxi driver loaded my duffel without a word.
“Naples,” I told him, giving Daniel’s address.

As we pulled onto the highway, palm trees swayed in the humid air.
I tried to ignore the tightness in my chest.
We hadn’t spoken much lately—my schedule, his life.
But I’d always believed we could pick up where we left off.

The cab turned into his street and something in me shifted.
The grass in front of his house was overgrown.
The mailbox was stuffed with envelopes.
Curtains were drawn tight against the sun.
It didn’t look like a home.
It looked abandoned.