By evening, the house had settled into a quiet that wasn’t quite peaceful.
The living room lights were on, warm against the slow fade of daylight beyond the windows. A soft hum from the television filled the space, though no one seemed particularly interested in what was playing.
Ava sat on one end of the couch, her legs crossed neatly, a throw pillow resting against her side. One hand idly traced the seam along its edge, over and over, as though her fingers needed something to anchor to.
Across from her, Mrs. Taylor sat upright, composed, her back straight against the chair. She hadn’t spoken in several minutes, but her presence alone filled the room in a way that made silence feel deliberate.
Matthew occupied the other end of the couch.
His phone rested in his palm, screen dark, but
