Chapter 1: The Quiet House Rain tapped endlessly against the glass windows of the old Adeyemi house while twenty-two-year-old Amara sat quietly at the dining table, staring at a cup of tea that had already gone cold. The silence inside the house felt unnatural, almost alive. It crept through the hallways, rested on the furniture, and settled heavily inside her chest. Five years had passed since her mother’s death, yet nothing in the house had truly moved forward. Her father barely spoke unless necessary. Meals were eaten without conversation. The television stayed off most nights, and laughter had become something distant, like a memory fading with time. Amara often found herself listening to tiny sounds just to escape the quietness—the ticking clock on the wall, the humming refrigerator, the barking dogs outside. Sometimes she wondered if silence could slowly swallow people whole. That evening, her father entered the dining room, placed his briefcase beside the chair, and sat down across from her. “How was work?” he asked without looking up. “Fine,” Amara replied. That was all. Two people connected by blood yet separated by grief. As thunder rumbled outside, Amara glanced at the empty chair where her mother used to sit. The silence around that chair hurt the most.
