Chapter 2 - The Silent House
The house smelled of vanilla, crushed lilies, and fear. After the last bewildered guest hurried out into the humid evening, the silence that settled over the living room was suffocating. Lily was asleep upstairs, exhausted from sobbing, her small cheek marked by a faint swelling that made Sarah’s chest ache with vicious grief. Downstairs, the ruined cake lay scraped into a garbage bag, but the sticky, smeared floor remained a testament to the madness that had erupted an hour earlier.
Sarah stood frozen by the kitchen island, clutching Ethan’s phone in her trembling hand. The screen had faded to black, but the words were burned into her retinas: *“Mommy saved you again.”*
Who sent that? Why had Ethan been looking at his screen right before the cake fell?
She tapped the power button. The screen lit up, prompting a four-digit passcode. She tried his birthday—incorrect. She tried the date his father had abandoned them eight years ago—incorrect. With only three attempts left before the device locked permanently, she hesitated.
Upstairs, a door creaked.
Sarah moved swiftly to the foot of the stairs, her office heels clicking against the hardwood until she kicked them off. In her socks, she climbed the stairs soundlessly. The sliver of light beneath Ethan’s bedroom door vanished just as she reached the landing.
She pushed the door open without knocking.
Ethan was sitting on the edge of his unmade bed, bathed only in the silver ambient glow of the streetlights outside. His knuckles were bruised, his chest rising and falling in shallow, jagged rhythms. He looked smaller in the dark, stripped of the rabid fury that had possessed him downstairs. Yet, his posture was rigid, guarded—like a caged stray expecting another blow.
"Give me the phone," Ethan muttered, his voice hoarse, cracking on the edges.
"Who texted you, Ethan?" Sarah asked, keeping her tone low, measured, refusing to let her internal panic betray her. "Who is watching this house?"
Ethan didn’t look at her. He stared at the carpet between his bare feet. "It’s none of your business. It was a prank. One of the guys from the track team."
"Don't lie to me," she said, stepping further into the room. "Track teammates don’t text things like that when you hit your sister. You didn’t just lose your temper tonight, Ethan. You were terrified. I saw your eyes before you raised your hand against me. You weren't angry at Lily. You were panicking."
Ethan flinched. For a fraction of a second, the mask slipped, revealing the terrified little boy who used to hide in her closet during thunderstorms. But then his jaw hardened, the defensive wall slamming back into place with cold finality.
"You don't know anything about me," he whispered, venom dripping from every syllable. "You work seventy hours a week, you buy expensive gifts to wash your guilt away, and you think you know what’s happening in my life? You ruined everything tonight. You should have let it happen."
"Let what happen?!" Sarah pressed, taking two rapid steps forward. "Ethan, look at me! Look at your mother!"
Ethan snapped his head up, his eyes wild and bloodshot. "Just get out of my room! Get out!"
He lunged toward her, not to strike, but to shove past and slam the door. Sarah stood her ground, but the raw desperation in his eyes made her stop. He was shaking violently. Cold sweat gleamed on his forehead.
She backed out slowly, leaving the door ajar. As she retreated down the hall, she slipped his phone into her apron pocket. Down in the kitchen, she retrieved the garbage bag containing the ruined cake. Something had gnawed at the back of her mind ever since she wiped the floor: Ethan hadn't just dropped the cake—he had dived for it, clawing at the cardboard base as if searching for something hidden within the tiers.
May you like
Taking a deep breath, Sarah pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and reached into the dark.
***
