Synopsis

Dust motes danced in the sunbeams slicing through the old house, illuminating a quiet that felt thick with unspoken things. It was after the baby, a new life brimming with innocence, had settled into the rhythm of their days that the whispers began. Not audible words, but a subtle shift in the air, a fleeting chill, a sense of being watched. The wife found herself drawn to these anomalies, a curious fascination blooming within her as she pieced together fragments of a story – a child's laughter