The night

Scott ends up on the downstairs couch, shirt half-buttoned, legs draped over the side. Not even too **** just lazyness.

Sharon thinks nothing of it until the house is still, the only sound the faint hum of appliances and Robert’s breathing beside her in bed.

She wakes to a floorboard creak.

A shadow in the hallway.

She tenses.

Then the bedroom door opens, slowly, barely a whisper.

Scott stands in the frame, his silhouette tall, motionless. Her breath catches, more from shock than fear. He doesn’t speak — just watches her. Waiting.

She sits up slightly, heart pounding. Beside her, Robert stirs but doesn’t wake.

Scott takes a step inside. She raises a hand to stop him.

He stops.

The room is silent, electric.

“No,” she mouths — not angry, not cold, but deliberate.

"I cant sleep" he mutters playfully.