The Voice Behind The Door

I stood in the hallway without breathing. Ethan’s bedroom door was half closed, just enough for his voice to slip through. He had spent the morning claiming he could barely lift his head, but the man speaking behind that door sounded alert and controlled.

Then he laughed softly. “No, she has no idea,” he said. “She still thinks it’s just the flu.” The soup bag swung against my leg. I looked down at it like it belonged to someone else.