The house was quiet when Daniel returned that evening. Too quiet. Normally, the moment he turned the key in the door, the noise would come rushing toward him - Joshua calling out from the living room, Grace darting in with a picture she had drawn, Caleb sprinting on short legs and colliding into him like a tiny battering ram.
But tonight, the only sound was the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the ticking clock above the kitchen doorway.
He stepped inside, loosening his tie. "Hello?" His voice seemed to disappear into the stillness.
Joshua appeared from the hallway, his eyes darting between the floor and Daniel's face. "Mum's in bed."
Daniel frowned. "Already?"
"She said she was tired," Joshua replied, his voice uncertain. "She didn't eat dinner. Grace tried to make her tea, but she didn't drink it."
Daniel's footsteps quickened. He pushed open the bedroom door and froze.
Mary was curled on her side, her cream shawl - still the same one from that morning - wrapped tightly around her shoulders as if it could hold her together. Her skin looked pale in the soft lamplight, her breathing shallow. Strands of hair clung to her damp forehead.
When Daniel reached for her hand, the heat made his own palm burn.
"You should have called me," he murmured, trying to keep his voice calm.
"I didn't want to worry you," she whispered, her voice dry and hoarse. "It's just a little fever. Probably from the weather."
Daniel pressed the back of his hand to her neck. "This isn't from the weather."
She tried to smile, but it flickered and fell away. "I'll be fine by morning."
"Or," he said gently, "you'll let me take care of you tonight and we won't pretend it's nothing."
He stood and fetched a basin of cool water. The metal clinked against the tap, echoing too loudly in the quiet kitchen. When he returned, he sat beside her and began dabbing her forehead with a towel, watching her eyelids flutter with each touch.
From the doorway came a small voice. "Is Mum sick?"
It was Grace, clutching her doll, her plaits slightly uneven from fidgeting. Her eyes were wide and glistening.
"Just a fever," Daniel said softly, trying to sound lighter than he felt. "Go help your brother keep Caleb in bed, okay?"
She nodded but lingered, as if afraid that stepping away would make things worse.
As the night deepened, Mary's temperature climbed. The damp towel warmed within minutes, and Daniel replaced the water again and again, pacing between the bedroom and the kitchen. He kept glancing at the clock, though he didn't know what he was waiting for - maybe for the fever to break, maybe for her to tell him what was wrong.
Around midnight, Joshua padded in, rubbing his eyes. "Dad, do you want me to stay up with you?"
Daniel shook his head. "Your mum needs rest, and so do you."
Joshua hesitated, then said, "She's never looked like that before."
The words sank into Daniel's chest like stones. He waited until Joshua left before letting the worry show on his face. He touched Mary's cheek again, hoping - praying - for the smallest sign of improvement.
But she was still too warm. Still too fragile beneath his hand.
Long after the rest of the house slept, Daniel sat in the dim light, watching her breathe. He had the uneasy feeling that he was not just guarding her from illness, but from something bigger - something neither of them could yet name.
He didn't know it yet, but this was the night that would change everything.