Then my sister Kara texted me Tuesday afternoon.
Can you stop by Mom and Dad’s place and grab the mail? We’re out for a few days. Basement door still sticks.
It was a simple favor, but guilt hit me immediately. One quick stop. One chance not to be the daughter who was always too busy.
After work, I bought their favorite things: grapes, sourdough bread, and the expensive butter my dad always claimed tasted the same as the cheap kind. By the time I reached their street, the evening had turned soft and gray-blue.
Everything looked normal.
But their house felt wrong before I even parked.
The porch was too quiet. No television sound. No kitchen light. No voice from my mother calling, “Use your key, honey.”
I rang the bell.