The Price of Silence and the Secrets Served at the Table
“I updated the codes while the police were outside.”
“He can’t get back in, even if he gets someone to post bond.”
“Thank you, Annika,” I said, walking her to the front door.
“I’ll call you in the morning,” she said. “Get some sleep.”
She stepped out, and I locked the heavy front door behind her.
I turned the deadbolt, hearing the solid click of the metal slide into place.
I walked back into the dining room.
The table was still set for eight people, the silver candlesticks burning low.
I went around the table, blowing out each candle one by one.
With each puff of air, the room grew darker, until only the moonlight through the high windows remained.
I sat down in the chair at the head of the table, the seat Derek usually occupied.
The leather was cool against my back.
I looked at the empty chairs, the remnants of a dinner party that had ended in ruin.
But it was his ruin, not mine.
My hands were no longer shaking.
I leaned back, closed my eyes, and listened to the quiet winter wind brushing against the glass.