The Tap

The kitchen faucet drips. Has been dripping for weeks now. Sarah watches each drop form, swell, fall. The sound marks time like a metronome gone wrong.

She could fix it. Should fix it. The wrench sits in the drawer beneath the sink, waiting. Her father taught her about plumbing when she was twelve. His calloused hands guiding hers on cold metal. Tighten until it catches, then a quarter turn more.

The water bill comes higher each month. Red numbers growing like a fever.

Morning light stretches across linoleum. Sarah stands at the counter, coffee cooling. The drip keeps its rhythm. Her phone buzzes. Mom again. Fourth time this week.

She lets it ring.

The nursing home costs more than the mortgage now. Forms pile up on the kitchen table, white sheets stark against dark wood. Her father's signature grows shakier on each one. Some days he remembers the wrench, the lessons. Some days he remembers nothing at all.

Drip.

The sound follows her to work. Echoes in fluorescent-lit halls where she processes other people's paperwork. Her cursor blinks between numbers. Red to black to red again.

Drip.

Her supervisor asks about the quarterly reports. Sarah nods, says nothing. The cursor keeps blinking. The numbers blur.

Home again. The mail slot spits more forms onto the mat. The kitchen stays dark but for streetlight through unwashed windows. Sarah opens the drawer. The wrench is cool and heavy, like memory.

Drip.

She stands at the sink. Water beads, swells, falls. Her father's voice comes distant now. Tighten until it catches. The metal turns under her hands.

Something snaps.

Water spurts angry, hissing. Sprays across her shirt, her face. The stream grows stronger, wilder. She fumbles for the shutoff valve. Can't remember which way it turns.

The floor floods black in the dark. Sarah sits against cabinets, watching water rise. Her phone buzzes on the counter above. She lets it ring and ring and ring.

Morning comes grey through the windows. Water soaks the forms, bleeds ink into patterns like memory fading. The dripping has stopped. The silence roars.