By the time the sun began to set, the house was quiet. This kind of silence never lies.

I was reading. Our son was on the floor, stacking blocks. The structure made no sense. Wrong colors. Wrong shapes. Childish.

“Dad.”

“What.” I did not look up. I didn’t need to. He knows I am always listening.

“Someone talked to me today.”

My hand stopped turning the page. Only for a moment.

“Who.”

“I don’t know.” He placed another block on top. “But he knew Mom’s name.”

I resumed reading. My expression didn’t change. Neither did my breathing.

Our son already knows that this does not mean indifference.

“And then?” I asked.

“That’s it.” He said nothing more.

Children release important information only when necessary.

That night, I went to bed later than usual. You were already asleep. son was curled toward your side, breathing evenly.

The next day, that person never came near our house again. One could have called it coincidence.

No one asked why. Some things do not require explanation. Especially in this house.