Chapter Thirteen: EMPTY HOUSE
965 Words
Eli
The silence woke me.
Not an alarm.
Not a phone call.
Not a nightmare.
Silence.
I opened my eyes and immediately knew something was wrong.
The house was too quiet.
For several seconds I stared at the ceiling, disoriented.
Then I remembered.
Italy.
Kira was in Italy.
The realization settled heavily in my chest.
I checked the time.
7:12 a.m.
Normally, by this point in the morning, I’d already hear something.
Kira running through the hallway.
A door slamming.
Miss Kingsley apologizing for the door slamming.
Kira asking twenty-seven questions before breakfast.
Something.
Instead there was nothing.
Just silence.
I sat up slowly.
The room felt colder than usual.
Or maybe that was my imagination.
I got dressed and headed downstairs.
The kitchen was empty.
No tiny blonde menace sitting on the counter.
No Miss Kingsley arguing with the coffee machine.
No suspicious smell suggesting someone had nearly burned breakfast.
Just me.
I poured myself coffee.
One cup.
Black.
Strong.
Then sat at the kitchen island.
The estate suddenly felt much larger than I remembered.
Ridiculously large.
The sort of house people imagined they wanted until they actually had to live in it alone.
I took a sip.
The coffee tasted the same.
Everything else felt different.
My phone buzzed.
A message.
Kira.
Immediately.
I opened it.
A photograph filled the screen.
Kira stood between Miss Kingsley’s parents.
All three were smiling.
Miss Kingsley’s mother held what appeared to be an entire bakery in her hands.
The caption read:
NONNA MADE SIX DESSERTS.
A second message followed.
HELP.
I stared at the screen.
Then shook my head.
The child was dramatic.
A third message appeared.
VERY SERIOUS HELP.
I typed a reply.
Eat one dessert at a time.
Three dots appeared.
Then:
BETRAYAL.
The corner of my mouth twitched.
A rare occurrence.
I locked the phone and finished my coffee.
For a moment I considered returning to work.
There was certainly enough paperwork waiting.
Enough reports.
Enough responsibilities.
Instead I found myself wandering toward the living room.
The blanket fort was gone.
Miss Kingsley had apparently dismantled it before leaving.
Good.
It was a safety hazard.
An obvious one.
I stared at the empty space.
Then kept walking.
The house felt strangely abandoned.
Not empty.
Abandoned.
Which was ridiculous.
Kira had been gone for less than two days.
I entered the family room.
Silence.
The dining room.
Silence.
The garden.
Silence.
Eventually I found myself standing outside Kira’s bedroom.
I hesitated.
Then pushed the door open.
The room looked exactly the same.
Books.
Toys.
Drawings.
The stuffed rabbit she refused to sleep without.
Everything remained untouched.
Waiting.
I walked inside.
On her desk sat a folded piece of paper.
Curiosity won.
I opened it.
A drawing.
Stick figures.
One very small blonde stick figure.
One very tall dark-haired stick figure.
One stick figure with long white hair.
Me.
Kira.
Miss Kingsley.
The drawing was labeled in large, uneven letters.
MY FAMILY.
For several seconds I simply stared.
Then I carefully placed it back where I’d found it.
Children had a habit of saying simple things that carried unexpected weight.
I left the room.
The door clicked softly behind me.
The rest of the day passed slowly.
Painfully slowly.
I reviewed reports.
Answered emails.
Took calls.
Finished paperwork that had been waiting for weeks.
None of it helped.
Every room still felt too quiet.
Every hallway still felt too empty.
By evening, I finally admitted defeat.
The estate wasn’t designed for one person.
It wasn’t designed for silence.
At least not anymore.
After dinner, I settled onto the couch and opened my laptop.
Almost immediately my phone rang.
Video call.
Kira.
I answered.
The screen filled with chaos.
Absolute chaos.
Several relatives moved through the background.
Someone was laughing.
Someone else was shouting.
Music played somewhere nearby.
And in the center of it all sat Kira.
“Daddy!”
“Hello, trouble.”
She grinned.
“Nanny’s cousin fell off a chair.”
A pause.
Then Miss Kingsley’s voice appeared from somewhere off camera.
“Baby!”
“What?”
“You cannot start a conversation like that.”
I heard laughter in the background.
Then Miss Kingsley finally appeared beside Kira.
Her cheeks were slightly pink.
Embarrassed.
Interesting.
“Good evening, Mr. Winslie.”
“Miss Kingsley.”
Kira pointed dramatically.
“She dropped an entire tray of cookies.”
Miss Kingsley closed her eyes.
Slowly.
Like someone reconsidering every life choice that led to this moment.
“It was one tray.”
“It was six trays.”
“It was one.”
“Six.”
I listened to them argue for nearly five minutes.
Neither appeared interested in letting the other win.
Eventually Kira moved on to describing her day.
The food.
The relatives.
The desserts.
The food again.
Apparently Italy revolved entirely around food.
Not that I was surprised.
Throughout the call, Miss Kingsley occasionally corrected Kira, translated conversations happening in the background, and laughed whenever Kira exaggerated something.
The entire thing felt…
Normal.
Comfortable.
Warm.
When the call finally ended, the house immediately became quiet again.
Too quiet.
I stared at the dark screen for several seconds.
Then placed the phone down.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because for years I’d grown used to empty houses.
Used to silence.
Used to coming home to nothing but memories.
Yet somehow, after only a few days without them, the estate felt incomplete.
Not because something was missing.
Because someone was.
A small blonde girl.
And perhaps a certain nanny who somehow managed to bring noise wherever she went.
The thought lingered longer than it should have.
Outside, the night settled over the estate.
Inside, the silence remained.
But this time, for the first time in years, I found myself looking forward to it ending.
- Writer
