The silence that followed was unlike anything I had ever felt.
It wasn't the heavy, expectant silence of the car ride, nor was it the peaceful quiet of the new house. It was a vacuum, a sudden and violent emptying of the air in the room.
I sat there, my fingers clawing into the fabric of my shorts, digging in so hard my knuckles turned white. My heart was a frantic, irregular drum against my ribs. Every second felt like a minute. Every breath I took felt like I was inhaling glass.
I didn't look up. I couldn't. I just watched my own trembling hands, waiting for the laughter, the denial, or the cold rejection that would tell me I was insane.
But there was nothing.
No one moved. No one spoke.
The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, and the living room was plunging into a deep, dark twilight. The shadows of the four men grew long and distorted across the hardwood floor, stretching toward me like the ghosts I had just summoned.
