I returned home successfully and opened the door.

There was no note on the wall of the entryway.

I completely relaxed and turned on the living room light.

At that moment, on the dining table, a takeout bag tipped over by itself.

Hmm?

Was there a draft?

I picked up the takeout bag.

It tipped over again.

Could it be that I didn't place it properly?

When I picked up the takeout bag for the third time, I touched a warm little hand.

It was a chubby, warm little boy's hand.

I recoiled as if receiving an electric shock.

The little boy stared at me with his pair of eyes, mostly white with a little black: "Sister, don't you know you can't eat at the dining table?"