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The house was cavernous in its silence, the kind of stillness that only exists after a whirlwind of excitement has departed, leaving behind a wake of discarded wrapping paper and the faint scent of expensive perfume. I sat at the mahogany dining table, the very table where, only hours ago, my parents and two brothers had toasted to their upcoming “rejuvenation trip.” They had laughed, toasted to family, and hugged me tightly before heading to the airport. But the hugs had felt hollow, and the laughter had carried a sharp, jagged edge I was only now beginning to understand.
