I came back from a business trip, and the first thing my seven-year-old son said was, “Don’t go into my room.” Of course, I went in anyway.

His grip tightened around my sleeve. I could feel his small fingers trembling through the fabric.

That was when I realized something else was wrong.

The house was silent.

Not peaceful. Not calm. Silent.

There was no music playing in the kitchen, even though Lauren always listened to music while cooking. The television was off. I could not hear the washing continue reading …