Y/n stepped through the screen door, the wooden frame creaking shut behind her. The cool air of the house hit her face as the warm evening air clung to her skin through the screen. The faintest hint of whiskey and aftershave filtered into the foyer from the kitchen.

Y/n stood in the doorway of the kitchen, bags still forgotten in the doorway. The space was crowded. The kitchen, usually the heart of the house, now felt like the staging ground for something else entirely. Her father’s armchair was empty, but he was positioned behind the island, holding a beer. On the island, sat a dark-haired man with a sly grin and sharp eyes. He straightened up almost eagerly, which only put her more on edge.