Chapter 2 - The Normalcy of Neglect
When Ethan pushed open the heavy front door of the house just past ten o’clock on Friday night, the immediate sensory feedback was one of domestic comfort and leisure. The air in the foyer was warm, carrying the distinct, savory scent of garlic parmesan chicken wings and grease from a local upscale takeout restaurant.
From the living room down the hall, the loud, familiar laugh track of a popular television sitcom echoed off the drywall, interspersed with the high-pitched, synchronized giggles of his sisters. Maya, who was twenty-four and worked three afternoons a week at a local boutique, was sprawled across the plush sectional sofa, her feet resting carelessly on a leather ottoman that Ethan had imported from Italy. She was scrolling through her social media feed on a tablet, a cardboard box of half-eaten chicken wings balanced on her lap.
Beside her, Chloe and Sofia, the twenty-one-year-old twins who were currently taking a gap year funded entirely by Ethan’s primary checking account, were sharing a large bowl of gourmet popcorn, their legs tucked under a faux-fur throw blanket. Their expensive designer sneakers were discarded in a messy heap in the middle of the hardwood walkway.
Eleanor, his mother, sat comfortably in her custom-designed orthopedic recliner near the television, her reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose as she knitted a decorative blanket, occasionally commenting on the plot of the show.
For a brief, uncritical moment, Ethan felt a sense of relief. This was the scene he paid for. This was the peace he had sacrificed his youth to secure for them: a comfortable, stress-free environment where his family could lounge on a rainy Friday night without a single financial worry in the world. It looked normal. It looked too normal.
He set his laptop bag down on the entryway bench, loosened his silk tie, and walked into the living room, rubbing the bridge of his nose to clear the tension headache that had been building since his 4 PM scrum meeting.
"Hey everyone," Ethan said, his voice husky from a day of continuous conference calls.
"Oh, Ethan, you’re home late," Eleanor said without looking up from her knitting needles. "There’s some takeout left somewhere if the girls didn't finish it all. Maya ordered the expensive wings from downtown."
"I’m not really hungry, Mom," Ethan replied, his eyes scanning the lounge area. The space was cluttered with empty plastic soda bottles, discarded napkins, and crumpled paper bags from three different fast-food establishments. "Where’s Clara? Is she upstairs sleeping?"
Maya didn't look up from her tablet screen, her thumb moving rhythmically as she swiped past lifestyle photos. "No, she’s in the kitchen. She’s been in there for a while."
Ethan frowned slightly, a faint, instinctual prickle of unease brushing against the back of his neck. "The kitchen? Why isn't she in here watching the movie with you guys? It's ten at night."
Sofia popped a handful of popcorn into her mouth, her eyes glued to the television screen where a commercial was currently playing. "She said she needed to clean up before she went to bed. Honestly, Ethan, you need to tell her to relax. She’s always fussing around the counters and making us feel guilty for just hanging out after a long week."
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Ethan didn't reply to his sister’s comment. He stood in the transition zone between the living room and the main hallway, his brow furrowing as a sudden, sharp realization hit him. The girls had spent the entire afternoon and evening at home. His mother had been home all day. Yet the entire family was sitting in the dark warmth of the entertainment center while his wife, who was currently eight months pregnant with his first child, was unaccounted for in the utility dynamic of the house.
He turned away from the lounge, his leather shoes making no sound against the long hallway runner rug as he walked toward the bright, fluorescent light leaking from the kitchen door at the far end of the house.
