I nodded, not sure what to say. He returned to sorting his laundry without another word.
That night, I stayed up later than usual, sitting silently in the darkened apartment. The only sound was the distant hum of traffic and the occasional murmur from other apartments. I thought about the screaming—who could it be? What was really going on? But the silence inside my place was absolute.
The next morning, I got a text from an unknown number. “You need to check your apartment. Now.” No other details.
I debated ignoring it, but then I realized I couldn’t just pretend nothing was happening anymore. I unlocked the door and stepped inside. Everything looked normal, but I moved through the rooms carefully, eyes sharp for anything out of place. The bedroom closet door was slightly ajar. I reached out and pushed it open; it was empty.
The unease settled heavier on my chest, like a weight I couldn’t shake off. I sat down at the kitchen table, staring at my phone. Another message came through: “We’re trying to help you. Please don’t make this worse.”
