The kids are blissfully unaware, their laughter and playtime unaffected by the undercurrents of tension.
But I know children sense more than we give them credit for, and I worry about what they might pick up on.
As I tuck them into bed, I linger a moment longer than usual, watching their peaceful faces.
My partner returns from work, the weight of the night shift evident in the slump of their shoulders.
We exchange few words, the enormity of the situation hanging between us.
“What do you think they’ll find?”
The question is whispered, almost as if saying it out loud might make it too real.
“I don’t know,” I reply, my voice trembling despite my efforts to stay calm.
We sit in silence, the couch looming in the corner like a dark secret.
The clock ticks on, each second a reminder of the meeting that awaits us.
Sleep comes reluctantly, shadows dancing across the walls, our minds restless with possibilities.
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