Page 1
The house was too quiet. It felt as if it were holding its breath, waiting, just like me.
Max was curled up on the couch with his knees pulled tight to his chest, his chin resting on top of them, as if he could make himself small enough for the worry to miss him. The TV murmured in the background, a dull hum that nobody was really listening to.
I sat at the kitchen table, staring at my phone. Refresh. Nothing. Refresh. Still nothing. No messages. No missed calls. Just a blank grey screen staring back at me.
Mum and Dad never stayed out overnight without telling us. Never. They texted if they were going to be ten minutes late from the shops. Dad even sent a photo once of a traffic jam, just so we'd know he wasn't lost.
Without them, the house felt wrong. The air seemed colder. The clock seemed slower. Only my heartbeat was racing.
Page 2
I pushed back my chair. The scrape across the floor sounded far too loud in the silence, and Max flinched.
"I'm just getting some air," I said, trying to sound normal.
Outside, the afternoon sun slanted through the trees in thin, dusty beams. Cicadas buzzed somewhere out of sight. The lemon tree swayed lazily in the breeze, and the pool sparkled like liquid glass.
Everything looked normal. Too normal.
Then something caught my eye.
A green glass bottle was floating in the middle of the pool, turning in slow, lazy circles, as if it had all the time in the world.
Page 3
I frowned. We never left bottles near the pool. Mum would have had a fit.
I knelt at the edge and stretched out my arm. The cold water bit at my fingers as I fished the bottle out. It was slippery and heavier than it looked, and a chill crept up my spine that had nothing to do with the water.
A cork was pushed tightly into the top. My fingers trembled as I twisted it free. It came out with a soft pop, almost too cheerful for what was waiting inside.
A rolled-up piece of paper, damp and soft at the edges.
I unrolled it slowly and froze.
It was a photo from a security camera. Grainy and grey, taken late at night. Two people in hoodies were slipping out of a building. The man was carrying a black bag. The woman was smiling a small, secret smile.
Page 4
My breath caught in my throat.
I knew that smile. I had seen it every morning of my life, across the breakfast table.
Mum.
And the man beside her, the way he tilted his head, the way he held his shoulders.
Dad.
The photo slipped from my fingers and fluttered onto the warm paving stones.
"What is it?"
Max's voice cracked behind me. I hadn't heard him come outside. I wanted to hide the photo, to stuff it in my pocket and pretend I'd never seen it. But he was already reaching for it.
His face turned pale. "That's… Mum and Dad," he whispered, so quietly the breeze almost carried the words away.
My stomach twisted. Had they been lying to us our whole lives? Were the bedtime stories, the pancakes on Sundays and the hugs at the school gate all part of some act?
I put my arm around Max. He was shaking. Or maybe I was.
Page 5
The hours crawled by.
Every creak of the floorboards made my heart jump. Every car that passed sent me running to the window. Max sat cross-legged on the carpet, flicking through the channels so fast the screen could barely keep up. His eyes were glassy. He wasn't watching anything at all.
Then the front door creaked open.
Keys jingled. Footsteps. Voices I knew better than my own.
"We're home!"
They sounded cheerful. Relaxed. As if they hadn't turned our whole world upside down.
I ran down the hall. Mum was kicking off her shoes. Dad was stretching his arms above his head as if he'd just woken from the best nap of his life.
"Where were you?" My voice cracked like thin ice.
Dad blinked. "At the work retreat. Didn't we tell you?"
Mum raised one eyebrow. "We put it on the calendar, sweetheart."
"No, you didn't." The words came out sharper than I meant them to.
Before anyone could say another word, the TV blared from the lounge room.
"Breaking news. Police have identified the jewellery store robbers known as the 'Midnight Duo'…"
Page 6
We all turned towards the screen.
The camera zoomed in on the same grainy footage. The same hoodies. The same black bag. But this time, the faces were clear.
They weren't Mum and Dad.
Relief rushed through me so fast my knees almost gave way. Max let out a shaky laugh and buried his face in Mum's jumper.
Mum clicked her tongue at the TV. "What is the world coming to?"
Dad ruffled Max's hair. "Lucky we were at the retreat and not out there, hey?"
I forced a laugh. It came out thin and wobbly.
My hand slipped into my pocket and touched the crumpled photo.
Not the same faces. But almost. Close enough to fool me. Close enough to fool anyone.
And someone had wanted me to see it. Someone who knew where we lived. Someone who knew I would be the one to find a bottle in our pool, on the one night Mum and Dad weren't home.
This was no accident.
"Yeah," I whispered. "Lucky."
Inside my pocket, the paper crinkled softly, like a secret breathing against my palm.
And I wasn't sure anymore whether the nightmare was over, or whether it had only just begun.