Laura
I closed the door to my apartment behind me, leaning against it as the weight of everything pressed down on my chest. The silence inside felt both deafening and suffocating. Mrs. Abigail’s concerned face appeared from the kitchen, her hands still dusted with flour.
“You’re back early,” she remarked, wiping her hands on a towel. Her gaze shifted behind me. “Where are the twins?”
“They’re with David,” I said quietly, moving past her toward the living room. My voice felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else.
Mrs. Abigail followed, her face clouded with worry. “Laura, are you alright? You look pale.”
I sank onto the couch, staring at the empty coffee table. It felt symbolic, like a reflection of my own hollow self. “I’m fine,” I said, though the words came out flat, unconvincin
