Rain pelted the streets of Ashford, making puddles on the cobblestones shimmer under the gray sky. Derek Whitman drove home, hands tight on the steering wheel, jaw clenched. The day had been unbearable. Contracts had collapsed, investors questioned his vision, and by late afternoon, every decision felt wrong. He wanted to disappear into the quiet of his house, the one place that had been hollow since Lydia, his wife, had di/e/d.
When he stepped through the threshold, he expected the familiar silence that had enveloped him for ten months. But instead, a sound struck him so sharply it made him freeze. Laughter. Pure, joyous laughter. His three boys, Finn, Eli, and Jasper, had not laughed since that terrible night, the night a careless driver took their mother while she was bringing medicine home for them. Yet now, their laughter filled the house, high and unrestrained, echoing off the walls.