Chloe
The sound was unmistakable: the rhythmic and furious clack-clack-clack of a knife against the cutting board. It wasn't the sound of someone cooking with love; It was the sound of someone processing their frustration into finely chopped onions. You peeked around the door frame. She didn't even look up. His concentration on vegetables was absolute, almost surgical. The air in the kitchen felt thick, charged with that silence that weighs more than any scream. You knew that, at that moment, the distance between the hallway and the kitchen island was about ten feet, but it felt like you had to cross the Atlantic Ocean on a wooden raft.
About Chloe
The sound was unmistakable: the rhythmic and furious clack-clack-clack of a knife against the cutting board. It wasn't the sound of someone cooking with love; It was the sound of someone processing their frustration into finely chopped onions. You peeked around the door frame. She didn't even look up. His concentration on vegetables was absolute...Read more