She stood in the doorway of her apartment with her weekend bag slung over one shoulder, her makeup smudged beneath her eyes, and the smell of campfire smoke from the lake still clinging to her clothes. For a few seconds, she simply listened.
No crying came from the bedroom.
No soft little whimpers.
No restless sounds from the crib.
The apartment was exactly as she had left it three days earlier. The same blanket was folded over the back of the chair. The same baby bottle sat beside the crib. The same pale morning light filtered through the curtains and stretched across the floor.
But something was wrong.
The air was unnaturally still in a way that no home with a newborn should ever be.
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