By the time Ethan returned home, it was dark.
The entryway light was on, illuminating Claire's slippers, neatly aligned by the shoe rack.
A little dried mud still clung to the soles.
Ethan often craved buffalo wings late at night, so Claire had frequently gone downstairs to buy them for him after midnight. The owner of the takeout place downstairs always said he was lucky to have her.
The living room was quiet. A half-knitted blanket lay across the sofa with the needles still tucked into it. A ball of yarn had rolled onto the floor, trailing a long strand behind it.
A half-empty bottle of antacids sat on the coffee table, left over from the last time Claire had a stomachache.
At the time, Ethan had been keeping Lily company while she got her nails done. Claire had messaged him that s
