(2180  words)

Thursday, June 26, 2025T

Michael knew something was wrong the moment he walked into the apartment.

Not because there was blood.

Not because something was broken.

Not because the front door was open.

Everything looked normal.

That was the problem.

The apartment was too quiet.

Usually, on her days off, his mother was already awake. The kitchen smelled of coffee. Cabinets opened and closed. The television played softly in the background. His mother was always moving, always doing something, always making noise.

Today there was nothing.

He put his keys on the small table in the hallway and looked around.

No sound from the kitchen.

No sound from the bedroom.

Not a single sound.

He checked his phone.

10:14 a.m.

Too late.

Even if his mother had gone to bed late, she should already be awake. She always got up early, even on weekends. Especially on days when there was shopping to do, laundry to wash, meals to cook, and cleaning to finish. All those boring things she seemed to enjoy doing as if nobody noticed.

“Mom?” he called.

No answer.

Michael rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen.

The refrigerator was almost empty.

Not completely empty.

But close.

Half a lemon. A bottle of ketchup. Two beers. A piece of cheese that looked old enough to kill someone.

He stared at the shelves, then slammed the refrigerator door harder than necessary.

“Seriously?” he shouted.

His mother had promised to go shopping yesterday after work. She always shopped on Wednesdays and Saturdays. There should have been bags on the counter, food in the refrigerator, something ready for the whole week.

There was nothing.

No bread.

No milk.

No eggs.

Nothing easy to eat.

Which meant, of course, that it was now his problem.

A minute later, Leo walked into the kitchen. He was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. His hair was messy, and his face looked pale with sleep.

Leo was thinner than Michael, with slightly longer, untidy hair. His eyes were softer and more uncertain. He avoided direct eye contact when he spoke. His hands moved a lot whenever he was nervous.

He looked at Michael in surprise.

“Why are you yelling?”

“There’s no food!”

Leo rubbed his eyes and opened one of the cabinets.

An empty cereal box.

He stared at it for a second and put it back.

“Maybe she went out,” he said.

Michael gave him a look.

“At ten in the morning? Without buying anything first?”

“Maybe she already bought some things.”

“Then where are they?”

Leo did not answer.

He opened the refrigerator as if he expected to find something Michael had missed.

He found nothing.

Michael crossed his arms.

This was exactly the kind of thing his mother did when she was angry.

She would get upset with someone—usually Dad, sometimes Michael—and suddenly stop doing things around the house as if it were some kind of lesson.

No shopping.

No laundry.

No dinner.

No clean towels.

Then she would sigh loudly and complain that nobody appreciated her.

Michael hated it.

“Maybe she’s downstairs,” Leo said, though he did not sound sure.

Michael ignored him and looked toward the hallway.

“Where’s Dad?”

Leo shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

Michael walked to his parents’ bedroom and knocked once.

Nobody answered.

He opened the door.

The room was empty.

The bed was made, but not perfectly. His mother’s side looked smoother than Mark’s side, which meant nothing.

Or maybe it meant everything.

Michael did not know yet.

“She’s not here,” he said.

Leo stepped closer.

“Maybe he went out.”

“Obviously.”

Michael returned to the kitchen.

Leo followed him.

For a moment they stood in silence.

The apartment was not scary.

Not yet.

It just felt strange.

It was a fairly large apartment with a kitchen, a bathroom, and four rooms: a living room, a bedroom, and one room for each boy.

It had always felt organized and full.

Now it felt too empty.

Michael checked his phone again.

No messages from his mother.

That was strange.

His mother always sent too many messages.

About stupid things.

Where are you?

When will you get home?

We need bread.

Tell your brother to answer me.

Pick up your socks.

Did you eat already?

Stop ignoring me!

The silence on his screen felt unnatural.

He opened their last conversation.

Yesterday afternoon.

Mom: What time will you be home?

Michael: Late.

Mom: How late?

Michael: Very late. I don’t know.

Mom: Michael.

Michael: Stop, Mom.

That was all.

He put his phone away.

Leo was still looking around the kitchen as if their mother might suddenly appear from behind the pantry door.

“Do you think she’s angry?” Leo asked quietly.

Michael laughed.

“She’s always angry.”

“No, I mean...” Leo looked down. “Really angry.”

Michael almost told him not to be ridiculous.

But then he thought about the last few days.

His mother had been acting strangely all week.

Quieter than usual.

Then suddenly talking too much.

Telling people things she normally kept to herself.

The woman at the café.

The neighbour.

One of the teachers at school.

As if she wanted people to know something.

Mrs. Parker had stopped him in the hallway two days earlier and talked about his father as if she knew everything.

Yesterday, at Marple and Bean Café, the woman behind the counter had given him a strange look and said, “I spoke to your mother today.”

Even one of his teachers had briefly mentioned Alicia in a voice that sounded too careful.

Yesterday morning, before school, she had looked tired.

Distracted.

As if she had not slept.

Still, that did not mean she was missing.

“She’ll come back,” Michael said.

“Probably after she finishes punishing all of us.”

Leo frowned.

“Punishing us for what?”

Michael looked at him.

Leo was sixteen, but sometimes he still acted like he was ten.

Before Michael could answer, the front door opened.

Both boys turned.

Mark walked in wearing the same clothes and sunglasses from the day before, looking as if he had just left an amazing party instead of an ordinary day.

He stopped when he saw them.

“What?”

Michael stared at him.

“Nice of you to finally come home.”

Mark took off his sunglasses.

His eyes were red.

“Don’t start.”

“Where were you?”

“Out.”

Michael laughed dryly.

“No kidding.”

Leo shifted uncomfortably.

“Mom isn’t here.”

Mark froze.

Only for a second.

Then he shrugged.

“So?”

Michael stared at him.

“So?”

Mark walked past them, entered the kitchen, and pressed the coffee machine button.

Nothing happened.

No water.

Alicia had not made coffee today.

He cursed under his breath.

“She’s probably out,” he said.

“There’s no food,” Michael added.

“Then order something.”

“With what money?”

Mark looked at him without interest.

Leo spoke quietly.

“Mom’s bag is here.”

That got Mark’s attention.

“What?”

“Mom’s bag,” Leo repeated. “It’s in the bedroom.”

Mark immediately turned around and walked back to the room.

Michael followed.

The black leather bag was still on the chair beside the bed.

The one Alicia carried everywhere.

Mark picked it up, looked inside, then dropped it back onto the chair.

“Her phone?”

Leo pointed at the nightstand.

It was there.

The screen was black.

For the first time, Michael felt a cold sensation in his chest.

Alicia never went anywhere without her phone.

Never.

Mark picked it up and pressed the screen.

Locked.

He looked at the boys.

“Did either of you see her this morning?”

“No,” Michael said.

“I slept at Noah’s house,” Leo added quickly.

Mark looked at Michael.

“And you?”

“I got home late.”

“How late?”

Michael narrowed his eyes.

“Why?”

“How late?”

“After midnight.”

Mark stared at him for a second, then looked around the room again.

Everything else seemed normal.

Her shoes stood beside the closet.

Her cardigan hung from the hook near the door.

Her pencil case sat on the dresser.

Nothing looked out of place.

No broken lamp.

No overturned chair.

No sign of a struggle.

It should have reassured Michael.

It didn’t.

“Maybe she went downstairs,” Mark repeated, but his voice sounded less confident now.

“Without her phone?” Michael asked.

“She could have forgotten it.”

Michael shook his head.

“She doesn’t forget things.”

“Since when do you know so much about your mother?”

Michael stopped himself before he said something worse.

“Since she buys the food. Since she puts money into my account. Since she does the laundry while you disappear every night.”

Leo made a nervous sound.

“Michael...”

“No,” Mark snapped. “Let him talk.”

“Gladly,” Michael said. “Where the hell were you?”

Something crossed Mark’s face.

Anger.

Or panic.

Or both.

“Watch your language,” he said.

“Or what?”

“Now I owe you explanations?”

“You don’t owe explanations to anyone,” Michael replied. “That’s the problem.”

Leo stepped between them.

“Stop. Both of you.”

For a second, nobody moved.

Then Mark laughed.

It was a dry, unpleasant laugh.

“Did you argue with her?” Michael asked.

Mark did not answer.

Which was answer enough.

Leo looked at him.

“Dad?”

Mark rubbed his face.

“We always argue.”

“About what?” Michael asked.

“None of your business.”

“Maybe it is if Mom is gone.”

“Gone?” Mark repeated, as if the word annoyed him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Michael wanted to hit him.

Instead, he returned to the kitchen and opened every cabinet again, even though he already knew what he would find.

Nothing.

No shopping bags.

No receipts.

No fresh food.

No lunch plans.

They had not even started preparing dinner.

Nothing.

Alicia always did the shopping.

Always.

If she had not done it, something was wrong.

Leo entered the kitchen behind him.

“I checked the bathroom,” he said. “She’s not there.”

Michael turned slowly.

“Thanks. Very helpful.”

Leo ignored him.

“She’s not on the balcony either.”

Michael looked at him.

Leo’s face was pale.

He was genuinely scared.

Good.

Because Michael was starting to feel it too.

Mark entered a moment later, still holding Alicia’s phone.

“No calls,” he said.

“Try calling her,” Leo said.

Mark stared at him.

“With what? I’m holding her phone.”

Then he took out his own phone and dialed anyway.

The three of them stood in the kitchen listening.

Nothing rang.

Nothing vibrated.

No sound came from anywhere in the apartment.

Mark ended the call.

“She must have another phone,” he muttered.

Michael almost laughed.

“Mom? With a secret phone?”

Although...

Lately she had been acting strangely.

Whispering.

Looking over her shoulder.

Reacting sharply whenever someone touched her things.

Maybe.

Or maybe Michael was just tired and hungry and making stupid assumptions.

Leo was staring at the hallway.

“What?” Michael asked.

Leo hesitated.

Then he walked to the coat closet beside the front door and opened it wider.

The coats hung in a neat row.

Mark’s gray jacket.

Michael’s black hoodie.

Leo’s school coat.

Alicia’s red coat.

Her beige trench coat.

Her green jacket.

Leo frowned.

“It was here yesterday,” he said.

“What was?” Mark asked.

“That old brown jacket. The ugly one.”

Michael frowned.

“What ugly jacket?”

“The really old one. The one she never wears.”

Mark looked annoyed.

“Why did you notice that?”

Leo looked embarrassed.

“Because yesterday I checked the pockets.”

Silence.

Michael blinked.

“What?”

Leo turned red.

“I was just looking.”

“For what?” Mark asked.

Leo crossed his arms.

“Coins. Anything.”

Michael sighed.

Of course.

That was exactly the kind of stupid thing Leo would do.

But now it mattered.

“She almost never wore that jacket,” Leo said. “She always said it was ugly.”

Michael looked into the closet.

He barely remembered it.

Maybe an old brown rain jacket.

Something cheap.

Something unimportant.

Exactly the kind of thing nobody would notice was missing.

Until now.

“Maybe she threw it away,” Mark said.

Leo shook his head.

“No. It was here yesterday.”

Michael looked from Leo to the front door.

Then to Alicia’s bag.

Then to her phone.

Then back to the open closet.

No bag.

No phone.

But the old jacket was missing.

Something small.

Something easy to hide things in.

Something with deep pockets.

A knot formed in his stomach.

“Don’t call anyone,” Mark said suddenly.

Michael turned.

“What?”

“Not yet.”

“Are you serious?”

Mark lowered his voice.

“If she left on purpose, I’m not letting the whole building know before we find out what happened.”

“Left on purpose?” Michael repeated. “Without her bag? Without her phone?”

Mark did not answer.

Leo looked at both of them, frightened.

“What if something happened to her?” he whispered.

Mark turned sharply.

“Nothing happened.”

The kitchen fell silent.

Outside, somewhere down the street, a car alarm began to ring.

Nobody moved.

Michael looked at the empty refrigerator.

At the silent phone on the counter.

At the open closet.

At Leo’s pale face.

At Mark, who suddenly looked less angry and more frightened than Michael had ever seen him.

And for the first time that morning, a thought hit him so hard that his mouth went dry.

Maybe his mother had not simply gone out.

Maybe she had left.

Or maybe someone had made sure she would never come back.