Something about that message disturbed me deeply.
I stared at it for a long time before driving faster through the rain toward home.
When I reached our neighborhood before sunrise, everything looked strangely still. The second I stepped inside the house, I knew something was horribly wrong because newborn homes normally carry constant noise and movement. There should have been soft crying, footsteps, running water, or microwave sounds from exhausted parents awake at strange hours.
Instead, the house felt cold and dead quiet.
The living room smelled like old pizza and stale air-conditioning while my mother and Ashley slept comfortably beneath blankets on the couch. Empty soda bottles, chip bags, and pizza boxes covered the coffee table like they had spent the night relaxing instead of caring for a recovering mother and newborn baby.
My mother woke up startled when she saw me standing there unexpectedly.
She immediately asked why I had not warned them I was coming home early. I ignored the question and demanded to know where Emily and Noah were. Mom casually answered that Noah cried all night and Emily was probably sleeping now.
