The silence in our house had a specific weight to it. It was the heavy, suffocating kind that settled in the corners after Jonathan died, the kind that made the simple act of washing a cereal bowl feel like an endurance test. I was standing at the kitchen sink, carefully avoiding the sight of his empty key hook, when the phone rang. It was Principal Brennan. His voice wasn’t just serious; it was brittle, like glass about to shatter. He told me I needed to come to the school immediately. He mentioned six large men in work jackets had arrived...
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