It’s an easy spring silence that settles over the house that morning, a content absent of sound resonating through the kitchen as Bertholdt makes his coffee. He revels in the quiet moment; sunlight filters through the open windows, casting a happy light across his face, and after all, spring is his favorite season. But as he stirs his coffee, adding perhaps a bit more sugar than necessary, he realizes that the house should not be this quiet at all. Ever.
A panic immediately sets into his mind and he abandons the coffee in the kitchen, dashing back upstairs only to find both bedrooms empty. He stands back, alarmed. Where are they?
“Were you actually freaking out?” Annie murmurs when he finds them on the front porch. She’s taken up a place on the bench swing, hair pulled up into a messy bun and tired eyes carefully watching.
Bertholdt takes his place next to her. “You were still in bed when I got up,” he says. “I didn’t know where you had gone.”
The baby in Annie’s arms coos and one of its tiny hands reaches up towards its father. Bertholdt smiles, gently taking the minute fingers in his own hand.
Annie leans into his shoulder. “We’re right here. We always will be.”