The house smelled too clean. Like someone was trying to scrub away memories instead of dirt. Daniel walked in, leaving the front door swinging behind him, shoulders loose like he didn't care. Like he wasn't already bleeding somewhere inside.
The lights were dimmed the way Regina liked them. His footsteps felt loud, intrusive, like even the floors wanted to tell him he didn't belong here anymore.
He drifted to the kitchen without thinking. Some part of him looking for noise, for something that felt alive.
Margaret was there, stirring something slow and definitely heavy. She looked up when he entered, wiping her hands on a towel, her face settling into that same careful, maternal concern she always wore around him. Like he was a fragile thing she wasn't allowed to acknowledge out loud.
"Sir," she said gently. "You're back late."
Daniel pulled open the massive fridge, stared at the rows of neatly packed dinners like they were math problems he couldn't solve.
