One evening, Emily tugged at his sleeve, whispering about a “secret room.” She giggled before he could ask more, then pointed at Sarah’s locked desk drawer. “Mom told me not to touch.” Michael smiled at her mischief, but his chest tightened. Children invented things, yet, their truths sometimes slipped through.
Sleep came fitfully. The creak of pipes and the hum of the refrigerator kept him on edge, sounds he wasn’t used to for some time now. Each groan of the house stirred his nerves, though he reminded himself it was civilian life he had to readjust to. Still, rest never stayed long.