A Father's Distraction

Lily found herself in the grand foyer, the polished marble floor reflecting the afternoon sun like a frozen lake. Her footsteps, usually light and quick, felt heavy as she approached Mr. Sterling. He stood by the ornate grandfather clock, its pendulum swinging with a slow, deliberate tick-tock that seemed to echo the emptiness in his eyes. They were the same eyes as Mrs. Sterling’s, a pale, unblinking blue, as if a film had been laid over them, softening every sharp edge, every flicker of thought.

“Mr. Sterling?” Her voice, small and uncertain, barely disturbed the hushed quiet of the house.

He turned, and for a moment, Lily thought she saw a spark, a flicker of recognition. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that familiar, distant gaze. “Lily,” he said, his voice smooth, like polished stone. “Enjoying your new home?”