Chapter 1
The morning should have felt ordinary, just like it always did.
The sun rose over the houses that stood in perfect lines, identical down to the smallest detail, their pale walls catching the early light in the same careful way every day. The streets between them were narrow and quiet, stretching in straight, controlled paths.
Each road led toward the high enclosing walls that cut off the horizon, allowing only a thin layer of sky above us. Nothing about this place was accidental. Everything was designed to feel stable, predictable, and safe.
And yet, when my alarm went off, something felt wrong.
The sound was sharper than usual and rang longer than it should have, echoing faintly against the warm walls of my room. I didn’t open my eyes right away. Normally, I wouldn’t have the chance to hesitate. One of my parents would already be in the doorway, calling my name, pulling the blanket away, rushing me into the day before I could resist.
But this time, no one came.
The alarm kept ringing until I reached out to shut it off, and the silence that followed felt too disturbing. I stayed still for a moment, listening without really knowing what I was waiting for. There were no footsteps in the hallway, no quiet voices drifting in from the kitchen, no movement at all. The house felt like it was holding its breath.
I opened my eyes slowly, my vision adjusting to the soft, controlled light filtering through the curtains. Everything looked the same. The ceiling, the walls, the faint outline of furniture, nothing had changed. And yet, the absence of sound pressed against me in a way I couldn’t ignore.
“Mom?” I called out, my voice quieter than I expected. No answer came.
I sat up slowly and moved toward the chair, where a pile of my clothes rested. I pulled out my favorite blue top and shorts. My hair was still damp from last night, tangled badly enough that the brush kept catching. I winced and pulled harder, trying to focus on something ordinary. The bags under my eyes were even darker than my grey eyes themselves. Faint sound came from outside my room. I stepped into the hallway and called for my dad this time. The silence remained untouched.
A sudden cry cut through the stillness, sharp and urgent enough to make me turn instantly. Susie. I moved quickly towards the sound and found my little sister standing in the crib, small hands gripping the railing, her face flushed a deep red from crying and blue eyes shimmering with tears, bright and unfocused. Soft blonde curls clung to her face, bouncing as she moved restlessly.
“I’m here,” I murmured, lifting her into my arms.
She clung to me immediately, her fingers tightening in the fabric of my shirt. I shifted her against my hip, gently rocking her, but her unease didn’t fully fade until she pressed her cheek to my shoulder. The motion felt painfully familiar. Mom usually did this part in the morning, while I rushed around trying to get ready for college.
Soft footsteps sounded behind me, careful and quiet. Zach stood in the doorway, barefoot, still in his dinosaur pajamas, his hair still messy from sleep, and grey eyes searching my face for something I wasn’t sure I could give him.
“Where are they?” he asked.
The question settled heavily between us. I opened my mouth, instinctively reaching for an answer that would make everything feel normal again, but nothing came easily.
“They’re probably at work,” I forced steadiness into my voice. “You know how it is.” It was a logical explanation at the moment. Our parents were doctors. Early mornings, sudden calls, long shifts, none of that was unusual.
“They didn’t wake us,” Zach said quietly.
I gave a small shrug, trying to make it seem unimportant. “Maybe they didn’t want to.” He didn’t look convinced. Neither was I.
When we stepped into the kitchen, the unease deepened. It wasn’t just absence of our parents. It was everything else. The way it was so spotless, as if nothing had been used that morning at all. There were no cups, no plates, no signs of hurried movement. Most of all, there was no note on the fridge. There was always a note.
A cold realization moved slowly through me. They never left without leaving one. Not once.
I reached for my own phone, my fingers moving more quickly now, dialing before I could fully process the growing tension in my chest. The ringing stretched just long enough to build expectation before it stopped.
No answer.
I lowered the phone slightly, staring at the screen as if it might offer something more than silence.
“They’ll come back,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince Zach or myself.
I kept moving because stopping felt worse. Made tea, prepared toast, stirred porridge for Susie, my hands following familiar routine while my thoughts drifted somewhere out of reach. Every few minutes, I found myself glancing toward the door, waiting for it to open, for footsteps to finally return.
After breakfast I peeked outside. No kids rushing to school. No noise drifting between the houses. No groups heading toward the subway station.
“Aren’t we late?” Zach asked interrupting my observation. I looked down at him.
“I think we’re staying home today.” I answered, not entirely sure why I had decided that.
“Why?” His eyebrows pulled together immediately. My mouth opened, searching for something simple enough to sound believable.
“I think everyone is staying at home today, so we should take a day off too.” I finally answered.
The hours stretched, slowly and quietly, as if time itself had thickened. No sounds came from neighboring houses. Even the faint hum of the central block was not audible. By evening, the silence felt heavy enough to notice in every room.
That night, after I had settled Susie and turned off the lights, Zach’s voice stopped me before I could leave the room.
“I’m scared.” His voice trembled. I turned back to him. He was standing in the doorway of his room, wrapped in his blanket, so it covered his ears.
“Where are Mom and Dad?” He whined.
I guided him to bed and sat beside him, the mattress dipping slightly under my weight.
“I don’t know,” I admitted softly. Saying it out loud made everything more real. “But I’m here,” I added, reaching for his hand. “Okay?”
He nodded, but his grip tightened around my fingers, holding on as if letting go might make something else disappear too.
“Can you stay?” he asked.
“Of course.” I laid down beside him, staring at the ceiling as darkness slowly filled the room. For a brief moment, a strange thought surfaced through the discomfort. I was the oldest. The one responsible now. The one who had to keep everything together.
It should have felt like something close to pride. Instead, it felt like something had been placed on me without warning, something heavy and impossible to set down.
The house no longer felt like home. And wherever my parents had gone, they took the sense of life with them.
