I paused with my hand on the doorknob, the weight of the day sitting somewhere behind my eyes.
My shirt collar was still damp from the rain, and the only sound I heard was the soft hum of a neighbor’s lawnmower three doors down.
No missed calls. No angry texts. Nothing.
When I stepped inside, it wasn’t “quiet.” It was wrong.
The TV was off. The kitchen lights were off. And dinner — mac and cheese, still in the pot — was sitting on the stove like someone had walked away mid-step.
Advertisement
“Hello?” I called out. My keys hit the table hard. “Jyll? Girls?”
