"Noah…" she said finally, her voice trailing off, leaving the sentence unfinished. The silence that followed felt heavy, and Noah's heart began to race slightly as he waited for her to say more.
Noah's mother, Caroline, sat in the dimly lit living room, the soft glow from the TV flickering across her face. Her expression was tense, her hands folded tightly in her lap. As Noah stood there, taking in the scene, he felt a knot form in his stomach. Something wasn't right.
"Noah, come here. Sit down next to me," she said, her voice low but firm. She patted the cushion beside her on the old, worn couch—the one they'd had for years. The fabric was faded, and Noah could remember the countless times he'd sprawled out on it as a kid, watching cartoons or napping after school.
