The Quiet Room
What the Yard Kept

Three Weeks of Dust

August 25, 2026 · Part 3 of 10 · 2 min

Corinne's sister Elise answered on the second ring, already annoyed. "If this is about picking a fight with Roland—"

"Is Corinne with you?"

Silence, the kind that told him everything before the words did. "Why would she be with me?"

"He said she went to Michigan. To your place."

"Callum, I haven't talked to Corinne in a month. She stopped answering my texts. I figured she was busy. Newlywed busy." Elise's voice thinned. "She didn't come to Mom's birthday. She never misses Mom's birthday."

Callum sat with that for a long moment, phone against his ear, Talia asleep on his couch under two blankets because she wouldn't stop shivering even with the heat up.

He started making calls. Corinne's yoga studio — she hadn't shown in three weeks, they'd assumed she quit. Her old coworker from the design firm — hadn't heard from her either, found it odd since Corinne usually forwarded funny memes daily. Her hairdresser had a standing appointment go unclaimed, no cancellation call, which the hairdresser said "wasn't like her at all."

Three weeks. Everyone said some version of the same thing: not like her.

Callum drove back to the house the next afternoon while Roland was at his office — Harborlight Wealth Partners, downtown, the kind of building with a fountain out front — and used the side gate again. He wasn't there for Talia this time. Talia was safe at his sister's.

He went straight to the garage.

Corinne's car sat under a film of dust thick enough to write his name in. Spiderwebs strung between the side mirror and the wall. He tried the door — unlocked — and popped the glovebox.

Her passport. Her insurance card. Her sunglasses.

Nobody leaves for Michigan without their car, their passport, or their phone.

Nobody leaves at all and forgets to tell their own sister.

Callum stood there in the dim garage with dust on his fingers, and for the first time let himself think the word he'd been avoiding since the padlock.

Missing.

Or worse.

Continue the story Part 4: What the Shovel Found →

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