“The kids will go crazy when they see me walk through the door,” he thought, imagining their excited footsteps rushing across the marble floor.
As he drove through the winding road leading to his mansion, a childhood memory drifted in: his mother placing still-warm cookies on the kitchen table, greeting him with flour-dusted hands and a tired but loving smile.
That memory filled his chest with a tenderness he rarely allowed himself to feel.
Today, he wanted to be the one bringing warmth home.
But the moment he pulled into the driveway, something felt wrong.
Too still.
Too silent.
Not even the faint hum of cartoons or the clatter of toys.
He frowned.
“Maybe they’re napping,” he told himself.
But even then… the house shouldn’t feel this hollow.
He stepped inside—and the silence wrapped around him like a cold hand.
No children running.
No voices.
No footsteps.
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