The next few days felt like walking through a dream I couldn’t wake from.
Every corner of the house whispered now.
Every creak of the floor felt like a message I couldn’t quite translate.
Steve said I was imagining it. He’d started sleeping with earplugs.
Bethany buried herself in her headphones, pretending she didn’t hear the noises at night.
But David… David listened.
He always listened.
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It started on a Tuesday afternoon. The air outside was heavy with humidity, the kind that makes your hair stick to your neck and your patience run thin.
I was folding laundry on the couch when I noticed David sitting at the kitchen table with his crayons spread around him like a painter’s palette. He was humming softly to himself — the same off-key tune he’d been singing all week.
“What are
