Someone finished the butter, but didn’t take any out of the fridge to replace it.
“You probably finished it yesterday. Just go ahead and use the peanut butter,” Owl’s mom said. “You don’t need both.”
He was about to tell her how wrong she was, when a man walked into the kitchen, a corner of toast in his mouth. He leaned over, whispered something in his mom’s ear and she laughed. Then he kissed her, leaving a greasy smear on her cheek.
Owl glared at his dry toast, at his mother, and at the stranger walking out the front door.