“Something isn’t right. What's wrong? You’re upset. Why?” Caleb asked Harlow.
He had watched her go to collect the milk. She had been smiling and rocking her way down the hallway to a Foo Fighters song, playing on the radio. Seeing her dance her way to the front door, like nobody was watching, had made him laugh and as he imagined himself there with her, doing the same, he felt an ache in his chest.
Now, watching her read something on a piece of paper, then scrunch it, angrily, gave him a different kind of ache. An ache he didn’t like.
“God I hate this. I wish you could hear me,” he told her as he made his way towards her.
Harlow signed as she picked the paper up and seated herself at the kitchen table, walking through Caleb in the process.
“Bloody cheek of walking right through
