Sunday morning arrived, bringing with it a sense of unease that settled heavily in the pit of my stomach.
The kids were excited, their energy filling the house as they prepared for another ‘Grandma visit.’
My husband was efficient, packing snacks and checking seatbelts, his focus locked on the task at hand.
I hovered in the kitchen, pretending to be absorbed in tidying up, though my mind was elsewhere.
I glanced at the clock, the ticking echoing my racing thoughts.
Time seemed to stretch and contract, a rubber band pulled taut, ready to snap.
“Remember to call if you need anything,” my husband said, his voice casual, his eyes not quite meeting mine.
I nodded, the unspoken tension between us an invisible barrier.
As they left, I stood by the window, watching the car disappear down the street.
The house was quiet, too quiet, the silence amplifying my doubts.
