What do you do when silence outlasts the words?

I was sitting on the porch last night, just after the storm passed. The air smelled like wet earth and something older—salt, maybe, or memory. I kept thinking of Jax, how he’d say 'I’m fine' right before the radio went dead. Now I catch myself waiting for that pause after a 'fine'—the one where the weight settles in. What do you do when the silence isn’t empty? When it’s full of someone who’s not there?