“Moved? You blind? Which punching bag moves on its own?”
Emily shoved Jason’s head hard.
“You’re just bored out of your mind! Stop with the spooky crap. Do your own thing! If you interrupt my game again, I’ll beat you too!”
She slammed the door again.
Jason hunched his shoulders, rubbing his sore head, then squinted at the bag a few more seconds. It didn’t budge again.
“Guess I imagined it…”
Finally, he gave up and went back to his room to do homework.
By evening, David Miller came home.
He tossed his briefcase on the shoe rack, glanced at the quiet kitchen, and called out in his usual gruff tone.
“Why’s it so quiet? Didn’t your mom make dinner?”
Jason stepped out, worry flickering on his face.
“Dad, I think Mom ran away from home. She didn’t even take her phone—it’s been ringing nonstop in her room.”
“Ran away from home?”
David let out a laugh, shaking his head, utterly unconcerned.
“That temper of hers—always blowing up over nothing! Probably sulking again. Whatever. I’m starving. Got anything to eat?”
He walked straight to the fridge, found only leftovers.
In the end, he dug out a few beers and a vacuum pack of chicken wings from the pantry and sat down to eat.