I came downstairs the next morning, slowly. The house was quiet, too quiet. That kind of quiet that doesn’t feel peaceful.
I went to the kitchen but Cynthia wasn’t in her usual spot. I opened the fridge, saw some juice, poured myself a glass and sat at the counter. I am getting used to this silence now, but not in a good way. It was the kind of silence that teaches you how to feel lonely even in a full house.
Just then, I heard a door creak somewhere upstairs.
I waited, then not long after Carson appeared at the end of the hallway. He didn’t look surprised to see me. He just looked... tired.
I stood up. “Morning,” I said.
He nodded.
“Morning.”He replied.
I waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t.
I tried again. “Can I ask you something?”I asked.
He leaned against the
