But something feels different tonight.

It’s been hours since Liam last answered your texts. Five hours, to be exact. Your last message sat on read, a tiny digital gravestone marking the slow death of a relationship you’ve been trying to resuscitate for weeks.

So you drove here. Because that’s what people in love do, right? They show up when something feels wrong.

His car is in the driveway.

The faint glow of a lamp seeps through the living room curtains.

You knock. Nothing.

You try the handle. It’s unlocked.

The door swings open, and the first thing you hear is laughter — a girl’s laugh, light and careless, a sound that cuts through the quiet evening air like a blade.

Your hands are shaking. Your heart is a jackhammer against your ribs.

The staircase stretches before you like a dare.