In the Still of the Evening

 Too quiet.

As the rain pounded outside, dinner simmered on the stove, sending up little puffs of steam. I sat at the counter, tweeting away.

 Quiet, in a house with two kids, is something to be feared before bedtime. It means Something Is Happening That Shouldn’t.

 I slid off the barstool and crept down the hall. Half way to…

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