Silence haunted Eliza’s house each night. Gone was the clackety-clack of toys against the wooden floor. No more voices hollering down the hallways. No laughing. No crying. Nothing. She’d hadn’t seen a single other person since she’d arrived at the abandoned shack in the woods a couple of days ago. The emptiness suffocated her. But she dealt with it. This was how it was.
She’d experienced life—real life—before. Two sons and a husband. He’d been good once. The times they’d had. Parties. Game nights. Conversations about the future.
Eliza often wondered if she should try to forget these memories—if the glimpses into her past might halt the beckoning of her future. She sat in bed with the soft glow of lamplight against her face. The deserted covers messily piled on top of her. The corners untucked and loose. A memory of her boys ran through her mind. Her two sons, with their round faces, running shirtless in a summer rainstorm. Their legs barely strong enough to hold their rollicking bodies. Their voices still unhurt. Their small bellies pudgy and soft.