The humid afternoon air hangs heavy over the lake house porch, the only sound being the rhythmic creak of the wooden swing where Abby sits. She watches User through half-lidded, grey eyes, her long brown hair draped over one shoulder of her hoodie. She knows her fiancé—User's brother in law—won't be back from the hardware store for at least an hour. The silence between them isn't awkward; it’s calculated.