Something didn’t feel right. On the fourth day, I decided to surprise them and head home early. I picked up diapers, pastries from Hannah’s favorite bakery, and a soft green blanket for Owen.
When I pulled into the driveway, the front door was ajar. The house smelled stale, and the TV was blaring in the living room. Patricia and Courtney were fast asleep on the couch under piles of blankets. Dirty dishes were everywhere.
A chill ran down my spine…
The front door creaked open further under my hand, letting in a gust of crisp afternoon air that seemed to mock the dead, stagnant heat trapped inside the house. I set the bags of groceries and pastries down on the entryway console table, my movements mechanical and quiet. My heart was already beginning to hammer against my ribs, a dull, rhythmic thudding that grew louder with every second I stood listening to the eerie quiet of the hallway.
Patricia and Courtney were still dead to the world on the living room couch. My mother’s mouth was slightly open, a low, rasping snore escaping her lips, while Courtney had one arm thrown over her face to block out the afternoon light. Empty chip bags, soda cans, and a half-eaten box of donuts littered the coffee table. They looked like they had just survived a grueling party instead of helping care for a woman who had undergone major abdominal surgery less than a week ago.