Through the kitchen window, my eyes glance over the backyard. The fence needs a fresh coat of paint. The lawn needs to be mowed.
I lean against the cold laminate counter, keeping my eyes outward. My fingers dripping water.
I need to get out of here. My gaze focuses on the limited view beyond the faded fence. Cars whipping by. People talking on the phone.
Shifting my attention back to the silent house, I look for a towel to dry my hands, ignoring the one empty spot on the knife block.