Edwin had run inside with quick panic.

My tea cups shook with his anxiety.

He froze when he saw my tranquil state, how I had been drinking a cup of tea near the fire, writing about the many silences I have encountered.

He stood, silent, with his fingers nervously holding his hat.

“Aislin…” he breathed. No words followed my name…only silence.

Suddenly I could see it, the silence before bad news.

It was so cold, not even the fire near me could warm the dread freezing through my bones.

The pain of anticipation of what news could bring such dread to Edwin’s face stabbed through me.

I was never supposed to see this silence…because I knew the silence before bad news always meant something worse than one could ever think.

“Edwin,” I said, breaking the delicate silence. “What is it?”

He released a breath. “Your illness is not…curable.”

Of course it wasn’t. It wasn’t a natural illness to see silence…but I wasn’t ever supposed to know that.

My persistence has cost me.

Again, silence fills the air between Edwin and me, but I don’t dare give it any attention.