The doorbell echoed through the house again, sharp and insistent, dragging me out of the haze of silence I had wrapped myself in. My hands were still dusted with flour, my apron smeared with traces of the stew I had been stirring, the scent of garlic and onions clinging to my skin. For a moment, I wanted to ignore it, to pretend I hadn't heard it, but it came again louder, longer, more demanding.
"Where was the butler, why was he not opening the door", I said in my head.
I sighed, wiped my hands on a towel, and walked toward the door. My steps slowed when I reached it, something in my chest tightening like a warning. Slowly, I twisted the handle and pulled the door open.
No one was there.
Only the afternoon air, cool and still. My eyes swept over the porch, the empty driveway, the garden beyond. And then I saw it.
A single envelope, resting neatly against the doormat.
