Tom McCarthy
I pushed the front door open and stepped into a house that already felt wrong before I even closed it behind me.
The silence pressed in immediately, there was no faint clatter from the kitchen, no low murmur of Mariah giving instructions to the other staff, no trace of food warming on the stove the way there used to be when Sara was still trying to hold everything together.
Just emptiness. Thick, cold emptiness that settled over me the moment the door clicked shut.
I dropped my keys onto the console table and the metallic sound bounced off the marble louder than it should have, echoing through the foyer like it was mocking me.
My tie was already loosened from the drive, sleeves rolled up, but I still felt constricted, like the day had wrapped itself around my throat and
