The night

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