I returned home smoothly and opened the door.

There were no notes on the wall in the foyer.

I completely relaxed and turned on the lights in the living room.

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

Hmm?

Was there a draft?

I picked up the takeout bag.

It overturned 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 instinctively withdrew my hand as if being electrocuted.

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