The cold hit him sharply.
He climbed the front steps, unlocked the door, and entered with his briefcase in one hand and his phone in the other.
At first, he did not understand what was wrong.
The foyer looked the same.
The marble floor gleamed.
The garland curved along the staircase.
The grandfather clock ticked softly near the wall.
But the silence was different.
It was not dead.
It was holding its breath.
Elias stood still.
Then he heard it.
A sound from upstairs.
Soft.
High.
Impossible.
A child’s giggle.
His hand went slack.
The keys slipped from his fingers and struck the floor with a bright metallic clatter.
For one wild second, he thought he had imagined it.
Grief had done cruel things to his mind before. He had heard Amelia’s voice in empty rooms. Smelled her perfume in hallways where no one had walked. Seen the shape of her in mirrors when he was too tired to remember she was gone.
