Ryan stopped in the kitchen doorway with one hand still wrapped around his suitcase handle.
His tan was much darker than when he had left for the coast five days earlier.
His smile was wide and relaxed as he took his first step into the house.
Then he noticed the absolute silence of the rooms.
There were no plastic bottles drying on the rack beside the kitchen sink.
There were no soft blankets folded on the arms of the living room couch.
The baby swing that usually hummed in the corner of the room was gone.
Even the three high chairs had vanished from their usual spot near the window.
His smile slowly disappeared as he looked around the empty space.
He looked at me with confusion growing in his eyes.
He asked me where the babies were.
I was sitting quietly at the wooden kitchen table.
My gold wedding ring rested on the table right beside a thick blue folder.
I looked at him and told him they were safe.
Ryan let go of his suitcase and let the handle drop with a dull thud.
He demanded to know where the children were.
He called out each of their names as if expecting them to appear.
I closed the folder slowly and looked at the man before me.
He had spent the last five days posting pictures online about how much he deserved some peace.
I told him that the children were at home.
His face began to tighten with rising anger.
He insisted that this house was their home.
I shook my head and told him he was mistaken.
