The silence after the last call

I was on the porch at 5:47 a.m., coffee cold in my hand, and for the first time in years, I didn’t hear the engine start. Not the usual rumble of the old truck down the road, not even a dog barking. Just the kind of quiet that doesn’t belong to morning—it belongs to absence. I thought about Jax. How he used to say, 'If you can hear your own breath, you’re already too close to the edge.' Now I’m here, breathing loud, and it’s not fear. It’s just… presence. Like the world is holding its breath with me.