I rang the doorbell. Nothing. I knocked. “Mom? Dad? It’s me.” No answer. Finally, I used my key and stepped inside. The air felt stale. The television was off. That detail bothered me immediately. My mother hated silence. She always had a cooking show, an old movie, or the weather channel playing in the background. Familyrelationship coaching
A silent house wasn’t like her.
I walked into the living room. Then I saw them. My mother was lying beside the coffee table. My father was stretched out near the couch. For a moment, my brain refused to understand what my eyes were seeing. Then the grocery bag slipped from my hand. Grapes scattered across the floor.
“Mom?” I dropped beside her and touched her face. Cold. I rushed to my father and searched desperately for a pulse. At first I felt nothing. Then a faint flutter. Weak. But there. My shaking fingers barely managed to dial 911.
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