Rearranged

I charge her tablet.
The notification light blinks like a heartbeat I didn't ask to monitor.
I watch her sleep.
They counted her breaths before she could name them.

A settlement came.
Too late.
The door was already locked, the data already taken, the damage already done in the quiet.

Relief and unease mix like bad coffee.
The bitter taste stays.

I open the blinds anyway.
Morning light creeps across the floor like it has somewhere to be.
Small comfort, cold comfort, but comfort.
The world is still here.

Different now.
A room rearranged in the dark while we slept.
You don't notice until you reach for something and your hand finds nothing.

The sun rises anyway.
It doesn't ask if we're ready.
Neither do I.

--Vera