He didn't realize he was crying until Claire pulled him into a hug.
It wasn't the quiet, controlled grief he'd grown used to—the kind that settled in his chest like a stone. This was violent. Ugly. His body shook with sobs he didn't know he was capable of, his fingers clutching at Claire's coat like she was the only thing keeping him from drowning.
She held him tighter. "I know," she murmured. "I know."
When the storm passed, he felt hollowed out. Exhausted. Claire led him to the couch, pressing a glass of water into his hands. He drank mechanically, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe the rawness in his throat.
"We have to clean this place up," Claire said softly.
Daniel stiffened. "No."
"Not—not her things. Not yet. But the dishes. The trash. The plants, Dan." She nodded toward the wilted fern on the windowsill. "Lila would hate seeing them like this."
The mention of her name sent a fresh pang through him, but Claire was right. Lila would have hated it. She would have marched into the room, hands on her hips, and scolded him for neglecting them. "They're alive, Daniel. They need you."
He set the glass down. "Okay."
Claire blinked. "Okay?"
"Yeah." He stood, his legs unsteady. "Let's… water the plants."
It was a small thing. A meaningless thing. But as he filled a pitcher at the sink, he realized it was the first decision he'd made in months that wasn't about clinging to the past.
It was a step.
And for now, that was enough.