*Chris' POV*
The silence after the call wasn't silence at all. It was a hum that filled every corner, pressing against my chest, louder than any scream could have been.
It wasn't even silence, not really. There was the faint buzz of the old wall clock, the rustle of Anne's papers on the kitchen table, and soon, the low hum of her voice as she spoke to someone else over the phone. But none of it mattered.
All I could hear was her.
My hands were still on the table where I'd braced myself, but I couldn't remember putting them there. The wood was warm from the sunlight sneaking through the curtains. It shouldn't have been warm. Everything should've been cold, like I felt.
Even the light felt wrong. Soft where it should've been harsh, steady where everything inside me trembled. It was like the house hadn't noticed the world was falling apart.
Anne was moving, talking.
Her voice cut sharply through the air. Yet, none of the words came through me.
