The morning felt off from the start. The sunlight that usually spilled through the curtains seemed colder, the silence heavier. Helen checked the clock: eight fifteen. They were never this late. She poured another cup of coffee, pretending she wasn’t counting the seconds between glances at the window.
She tried texting once: Everything alright? Then again, twenty minutes later: Are you on your way? The messages stayed marked as delivered, never read. The phone lay face-down on the table, its screen black and indifferent. Outside, the street was empty. No car doors, no voices, no laughter.
By noon, the unease had grown into something heavier. A knot of guilt she couldn’t shake. Had she said something wrong? Been too strict with the kids that last time? Helen stood at the sink, hands still damp, staring out at the quiet street. “What did I do?” she whispered.