“Sophie?”
Nothing.
“Adrian?”
Only the refrigerator humming.
I left my suitcase in the hallway and walked toward Sophie’s room.
The door was open.
That was strange.
Sophie never left it open when she wasn’t inside.
Then I saw the closet.
Empty.
Not messy.
Not half-packed.
Empty.
Wire hangers moved softly in the air from the vent.
Her books were gone.
Her shoes.
Her backpack.
Photographs.
Everything.
I felt something drop inside my chest.
Behind me, I heard movement from the kitchen.
I turned.
“Where is she?”
Adrian sat at the counter spreading butter across sourdough toast.
Slowly.
Calmly.
Like nothing had happened.
“Who?”
“Don’t do that.”
I stepped closer.
“Where is Sophie?”
He didn’t look up.
“She left.”
I stared.
“She left?”
