I sat there, staring at the broken silver chain lying in two pieces on the kitchen table.
The silence from their bedroom lasted through the night, a heavy, waking weight that did not lift when the kitchen clock chimed seven.
I stood in the narrow hallway, listening for the usual sounds of drawers scraping open or shoes dropping onto the floorboards, but there was only the hum of the old heater.
When I pushed the door open, the room was empty of them, though they had not packed to leave.
Their heavy winter schoolbooks still sat in neat stacks on the desk by the window.
I walked over to the closet and pulled the door back, my hand lingering on the brass knob.
Their hangers were pushed to the left side, leaving a wide, quiet gap on the right.
They had left for their morning classes at the high school without saying a word to me, slipping out through the side door before the coffee pot had even finished dripping.
