The house wasn’t just cool; it was a meat locker. The air inside felt heavier, stiller than the air outside. I flipped the light switch in the hallway. Nothing. The power was out.
Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in my chest. I ran into the living room, using my phone’s flashlight as a beam.
I found them on the old, sagging floral sofa.
It looked like a nest. Every blanket, towel, and coat in the house was piled there.
Under the mound, I saw my father’s face. He was pale, his lips a terrifying shade of blue-gray. He was wearing his heavy winter parka, a wool hat, and gloves. Wrapped tightly in his arms, shivering against his chest, was Mom.
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