The house was silent.
Martin walked down the hallway with a glass in hand, the ice clinking against the rim, melting slowly.
His footsteps soft against the hardwood floor. He was on his way back from the kitchen, half-lost in thought, when he heard it.
A faint, shaky sound. A soft sob.
He stopped just outside Loretta’s door. The noise was coming from inside.
His heart tightened.
He knocked lightly.
“Lo?” His voice was low, cautious.
The sobbing stopped abruptly, replaced by a cold, brittle quiet.
After a long moment, the door cracked open a sliver.
Loretta’s eyes, red-rimmed and glassy, flashed with surprise and annoyance.
“Loretta?”
She flinched. Her head shot up. In one motion, she wiped at her face with the back of her hand, fast and rough, as if scrubbing away the evidence.
