Ethan didn’t ask me to stay.

The farmhouse was silent when I got back.

I unlocked the front door and went down the hall to the kitchen.

Margaret was at the stove, pouring boiling water into a ceramic teapot.

She’d put out a plate of shortbread cookies on the wooden table.

“You look like you could use something stronger than water, honey,” Margaret said.

She carried the teapot to the table and filled a mug for each of us.

She drummed her fingernails on the wooden tabletop.