the house’s heartbeat through the wood.
“It’s just junk,” Daniel had said. I thought about the countless times I’d asked, “What’s down there?” and received the same answer. It was reasonable, it made sense, and I let it be. The house settled around me, the creak of the floorboards like a lullaby, and I turned away, the lock clicking back into place behind me.
The Day the Question Came
It was a rainy Saturday in November. The sky was a slate gray, and the wind whistled through the cracked
panes of the old house, making the curtains dance like shy ghosts. The girls were sniffling, their noses red from the cold, and Daniel had called in sick to the hospital, saying he needed a day off to rest.
I stayed home, making chicken soup that smelled of thyme and garlic, the steam curling up and filling the kitchen with warmth. The girls, bundled in oversized hoodies, hovered around the table, their eyes bright despite the sniffles.
