The evening was cool. I had tilted the window open, and the air flowing in smelled of damp leaves, smoke, and the distant sound of a train. It was that twilight hour when everything seems quieter, even the sounds from inside the house.
Downstairs in the living room, I could hear Tom laughing, that bright, carefree laugh that could penetrate walls. Mother was discussing homework with him; her voice was muffled but warm. The sound was familiar, almost comforting—until I thought about the fence again. About the eyes that had rested on me for too long.
