Empty Cup

Sunlight through the curtains lights the empty cup on the table. She hasn't cleared away the water glass he drank from and left last night. A dried water ring remains on the rim. The faint scent of yesterday's coffee lingers in the air. The morning air is cool, and taking the milk from the fridge, her fingertips sting. The fridge hums low. She stops pouring the milk and looks out the window. The cafe across the street has its lights on. The seat he liked; no one is sitting there yet. The street is quiet. It's still early. She pours the milk again and tips cereal into the bowl. The small sound of cereal sinking into milk rises. It sounds unusually loud. No text came saying he'd be late today. She picks up her phone and sets it down again. No notifications on the screen. Yesterday he smiled as he poured water into this cup. That smile is still vivid. She takes a bite of cereal and feels the still-warm sunlight touch her knees. The light slowly moves across the table. She sets down the spoon and simply sits. Time passes slowly.