Madelyn
I got home tired, it felt like my body was a bag of grain, my bones, even breathing felt like work. Ruth had already finished cooking; the smell of roasted chicken drifted through the hall as soon as I stepped inside. I dropped my bag on the console table and slipped out of my heels. The house felt quiet, too quiet.
Dominic still wasn’t back.
He’d left the office earlier—I’d seen his car pulling away when I was coming down the stairs, but I told myself maybe he went for a meeting somewhere. He did that sometimes, left without saying a word. Still, something about the silence tonight felt heavier.
Ruth came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Welcome home, Mrs. — Madelyn,” she corrected herself quickly, smiling a little.
I nodded, forcing a small smile of my own
