The house felt quieter the next morning—not empty, just subdued, like it was holding its breath.
Ethan noticed it as he moved through the kitchen, preparing breakfast with motions so familiar they no longer required thought. The kettle whistled softly. Bread toasted. Outside, the sky was pale and undecided, neither bright nor heavy with rain.
Noah shuffled in, dragging his blanket behind him like a shadow.
“Morning, buddy,” Ethan said.
Noah nodded but didn’t smile. He climbed onto his chair and sat with his legs tucked under him, blanket still wrapped around his shoulders.
Ethan placed a plate in front of him. “You hungry?”
“A little,” Noah said.
He ate slowly, quieter than usual. Ethan didn’t rush him. He’d learned that silence, when handled gently, could be an invitation rather th
