I picked up a sponge and began to scrub the grease off the large barbecue platter.

The soapy water turned gray as it ran down the drain.

Dan stood up and walked over to the trash can, picking up the discarded paper plates from the counter.

We worked in silence for twenty minutes, the only sound being the clinking of dishes and the running water.

The tension that had filled the house for the last three days was gone, replaced by a dull, heavy exhaustion.

I wiped down the marble island until it was clean and smooth.

I closed the blue folder and placed it in the drawer beside the phone.

The holiday weekend was over.

The silence in the room was no longer hostile, but it was vast.

We had saved our home, but the price of our safety was written in the empty spaces of the quiet house.

I turned off the kitchen light, leaving only the small lamp over the stove burning.

Dan was waiting for me by the stairs.

I took his hand, and together we walked up to the dark quiet of our room.