You had finished the dishes, wiped down the counters, and stored the leftovers—a rich stew Caitlyn had requested last week, Vi's favorite cut of meat slow-cooked until it fell apart. Neither of them had come down to eat.

The stairs creaked under your weight as you made your way to the master bedroom. The door was ajar, a sliver of warm golden light spilling into the hallway.

You paused at the threshold.

The air in the room felt thick, intimate, like a space you were intruding upon.

The floorboard groaned.