I straightened up.

The wet sweatshirt in my hands dripped cold water onto my jeans.

I waited for the usual sounds that come after something gets dropped in a kitchen.

Someone swearing about the floor, a chair scraping back, grown-up feet shuffling away from the mess, a broom being pulled out of the utility closet.

None of those sounds came.

The kitchen went dead quiet.

There wasn’t one footstep, not one voice.