I thought this was the finish line or something, like once we got the keys to the place with the big yard and the "good schools" tag on Zillow everything would just click into place but now I'm sitting here on this mid-century modern sofa that cost way too much and it’s just... quiet. Like, deafeningly quiet. We spent ten years in that cramped apartment in the city where the radiator hissed like an angry cat and there was always some guy shouting on the sidewalk at 3am and I hated it then but now I kind of miss the noise because it meant things were happening, you know? Now it’s just me and the hum of the high-efficiency fridge and the realization that we worked our asses off for a monument to nothing. Marcus is upstairs already asleep or maybe he’s just pretending to be because we don't really talk about the way the air feels heavy in here, sort of like we’re underwater or in one of those liminal spaces people post about on Reddit. We got the big backyard, the whole half-acre of Kentucky Bluegrass or whatever the hell it is, and I look out the sliding glass door and it just looks like a void, just a dark square of expensive dirt that we have to pay a guy to mow every Tuesday. I remember when we signed the papers and the realtor was all smiles talking about "community" and "neighborhood vibes" but I haven’t spoken to the neighbors once except for a stiff nod when I’m taking the bins out and they look just as tired as I feel, just cogs in the same machine driving their SUVs into the city every morning to pay for the privilege of living in a ZIP code where nothing ever happens.