“Mrs. Margaret… you shouldn’t be here.” The voice was calm, almost polite, yet something in its tone made my fingers tighten instinctively around the edge of the box. I turned slowly, my knees still weak, and saw a woman standing at the doorway, dressed neatly, her face composed but unreadable. She looked at me, not surprised, not startled, as if my presence had already been expected long before I arrived at that house. “I’m… I’m Emily’s mother,” I said, my voice trembling despite my effort to remain steady, “I came to see my daughter.” The woman nodded slightly, stepping inside...
Continues…