Rain
The kitchen was filled with the smell of steak and sourdough toast, but the air felt like lead. We were sitting in the same spots we always did, but the empty chair at the end of the table—the one Debbie usually occupied while she made fun of River’s hair or my grumpiness—felt like a gaping hole.
It had been forty-eight hours. Two days of looking at our phones every five minutes. Two days of jumpiness every time the front gate creaked or the doorbell rang.
I pushed a piece of egg around my plate, my appetite completely gone. "I checked the logs again this morning," I said, my voice sounding scratchy. "She’s been at the office. She clocks in at exactly 8:00 AM, locks herself in her private office, and doesn't come out until 5:00 PM. No lunch breaks. No meetings. Then she goes straig
