Don entered the house, the soft **thud** of his shoes hitting the floor in the entryway. As he started to work at his laces, he could hear Samantha's voice down the hallway.
"I don't think that's true Summer, maybe it's nothing."
Don's sock-clad feet padded across the hardwood as he made his way toward the dining area. Once there, he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms casually.
"What's nothing?"
His question hung in the air as four pairs of eyes turned to him almost simultaneously.
Instead of the usual warm welcome, he was met with a set of strange expressions. Samantha sat at the head of the table, her fingers fidgeting with her napkin, worry lines creasing her forehead.
Beside her, Sylvia's purple eyes narrowed as she studied Don with uncharacteristic skepticism. Summer on the other hand was slouched in her chair, her usual smirk replaced by an unimpressed frown.
