The red numbers on the alarm clock glowed 3:12 a.m.
I sat up, listening. Our house in Maplewood had its own language of creaks and sighs, but it felt different and eerily silent that night.
“Dave?” I whispered into the darkness.
No response came.
I padded downstairs, my bare feet silent on the hardwood. The kitchen stood empty, moonlight streaming through the window above the sink.
There was no glass of water on the counter and no sign he’d been here at all.
The front door’s hinges groaned suddenly and my heart jumped. Dave stepped inside, closing it softly behind him.
“God, you scared me,” I said, wrapping my robe tighter. “Where were you?”
Continue reading…
