Then, a sound. Crashing branches. A thud. Caleb tumbled down the slope, mud on his jacket, one sleeve torn open. He groaned, rolled onto his back, and held up a hand. “I’m okay.” Lisa stumbled forward, tears already running down her face. “You’re insane,” she muttered, dropping to her knees beside him. He winced. “You ran like hell. I figured I should do the same.”
That night, Lisa stood at the kitchen sink, watching Nina bat a string toy from the windowsill. The kitten’s movements were slower now, more cautious. But she was home. Behind her, the porch door creaked open. Caleb stepped inside, his arm freshly bandaged, jacket slung over one shoulder.