Every morning he woke up minutes before she did and would listen to the low hum of every breath exiting her nose.
She would flip from her side to her back and the beige covers rustled like dry autumn leaves.
She would moan as she stretched with her arms outwards, fists balled, and her legs high up in the air.
Then, she would turn to him, whisper sweet nothings, and swing her body towards the side of the bed.
The sound of her light feet pattering on the wood floor always made him laugh.

But now his house is haunted.

The walls seem to murmur intrusive thoughts into his head.
The floor rattles beneath his feet like a snake giving a warning.
The glass shakes in the window panes at any slight breeze, mimicking gunfire.
The water from his sink gushed from the faucet with such great speed that it rung against the white hollow porcelain.

She wasn't there anymore.