Katherine
Chicago's constant motion rushed past me as I stood in front of a dingy apartment building I would now have to call home.
It had been three weeks since I buried my brother, and it still didn't feel real. People talked about the five stages of grief like they were something orderly, something you moved through step by step. I didn't think I had even reached the first one yet. Or maybe I was stuck somewhere before all of them - somewhere numb, where nothing quite registered.
I unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside.
Underwhelming didn't even begin to cover it.
It was small - smaller than I expected - and while my childhood home had never been big, it had at least felt like something. This felt temporary. Hollow. Like a space waiting to be filled by someone else's life.
My pink duffle bag slid off my shoulder and landed softly on the floor as I took a few slow steps further in, my eyes scanning the room without really seeing it. I hadn't bothered to view the place beforehand. I hadn't cared enough to. The landlord had sent over the paperwork, I signed it, and that was that. It was easier this way - less thinking, less feeling.
The living room was just large enough to hold the basics. A two-seater sofa, a small coffee table, maybe a television if I placed things carefully. There might even be room for a desk if I arranged everything right. Not that I had much reason to sit at one.
The bedroom was barely bigger, but the large window let in enough light to soften it. It gave the illusion of warmth, of something close to comfort. Almost cozy, if I let myself think that way.
The kitchen was worse.
Light yellow wallpaper covered every inch of the walls, bright and cheerful in a way that felt almost mocking. It was the kind of color meant to make a space feel alive, but it only made the emptiness more obvious. I couldn't imagine myself standing there long enough to cook anything anyway. For the past three weeks, I had been living off whatever required the least effort - bread, instant noodles, pieces of fruit left behind from Chris's last grocery run.
Even that had felt like too much some days.
Most of my furniture would arrive tomorrow. Everything except the bed, which I had paid someone else to set up for me. The idea of doing it myself had felt exhausting before I had even tried.
I really was just… existing.
A shell of a person, moving through motions that didn't belong to me. I didn't feel anything. It was as if every emotion had been stripped away the moment I heard the words—your brother is gone—and nothing had replaced it.
I functioned just enough to keep going. Just enough to not follow him into the ground.
I had never been suicidal. Even now, I wasn't. But I didn't know what I was, either.
I moved through the apartment on autopilot, pulling out a pair of black leggings and a grey sweatshirt from my bag. Within minutes, I had changed, my hands working without thought as I tied my dark brown hair into a messy bun, letting a few loose strands fall around my face.
There was still one more thing to do today.
Sullivan's Café was only a fifteen-minute walk from my apartment. The weather was mild, the kind that made people linger a little longer outside, their conversations light and easy as they passed me by. Laughter drifted through the air, mixing with the distant hum of traffic and footsteps on pavement.
For the first time in my life, I was just another face in the crowd.
No history. No expectations. No one looking at me and seeing everything I had lost.
Most people wouldn't want that.
But right now, it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
"Hello, my sweetheart!"
The warm, bright voice startled me slightly as I stepped into the café, the soft chime of the bell above the door echoing behind me as it closed.
I paused just inside, taking it in.
The front of the café was lined with large windows, sunlight spilling across the wooden floors in soft golden streaks. The contrast between the outside world and the interior was immediate—inside, everything felt warmer, quieter. Dark wooden tones gave the space a grounded, almost nostalgic feel.
Small tables were arranged neatly along the windows, each one slightly different, like they had been collected over time rather than bought in a set. Toward the back, the counter stretched across the room, a large menu board hanging above it. To the right, a tall bookshelf ran along the wall, filled with worn spines and mismatched covers.
It wasn't big.
But it was… beautiful.
"Hi, I'm Katherine Taylor," I said, stepping forward, forcing a small smile onto my lips. "Can I please speak to Janie?"
The blonde woman behind the counter beamed at me, her smile immediate and genuine as she extended her hand.
"I'm Janie Sullivan. It's lovely to meet you."
I shook her hand, returning the smile out of instinct more than anything else. She looked to be in her mid-fifties, her curly blonde hair framing her face softly. She was around five-five, wearing a warm orange apron tied neatly around her waist. There was something about her - something easy, something kind.
It made something in my chest tighten.
It was late afternoon, around four, and the café had quieted down. Only a few customers lingered at the tables, lost in conversations or books.
"Riah?" Janie called toward the back.
A moment later, a girl appeared, stepping out from behind a doorway. She looked to be in her early twenties, her dark skin glowing under the warm lighting. Her long braids fell past her shoulders, starting black at the roots and fading into vibrant pink at the ends. She wore the same orange apron as Janie, her expression curious as her eyes landed on me.
"Can you take over while I show Katherine around?"
Then she really noticed me.
Her face lit up instantly, her smile wide and effortless.
"Nice to meet you, Katherine - or can I call you Kat?"
The word hit harder than it should have.
A sharp, unexpected ache settled in my chest, the echo of a voice I wouldn't hear again.Hey Kat.
"I'd prefer Katherine," I said gently, offering a small smile as I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
"Gotcha," she replied easily, unfazed, already moving to switch places with Janie.
Janie led me through the café, showing me where everything was kept, explaining how things worked, encouraging me to ask questions as we went. Her voice was steady and warm, filling the space in a way that made it feel even more lived-in.
"This," she said, resting her hand on the bookshelf I had noticed earlier, "is my favorite part of the place."
I followed her gaze.
"Customers can take a book, bring one in, swap them out - it's all built on trust. We just ask that they return them when they're done. It's like a little library."
She smiled at me, and this time I noticed how it reached her eyes completely.
When the tour ended, she explained my schedule for the first week. I'd start at eight, even though they opened at six-thirty.
"Just to keep you away from the morning crowd at first," she added with a small wink.
She mentioned the others - Zariah, who worked full-time, and Elliott, who came in a few days a week.
And just like that, it was done.
I signed the contract, the pen feeling heavier in my hand than it should have. I had a job. A start. Something that resembled a life.
"See you on Monday, Katherine!" Zariah called as I headed toward the door. "I can't wait to get to know you better!"
I lifted a hand in a small wave before stepping back outside.
The city noise rushed in again immediately, louder now after the quiet of the café.
It had been warm inside. Inviting. The kind of place people stayed in longer than they planned to.
Janie and Zariah were warm too.
And that scared me more than anything.
People like them wanted to know you. Wanted you to open up, to talk, to stay.
I wasn't sure I had that in me.
But as I walked down the street, blending back into the movement of the city, a small, unfamiliar thought settled somewhere beneath the numbness.
Maybe this could be something different.
Maybe this could be the beginning of something new.
Or at least… something that didn't hurt quite as much.