One evening, as I sat at the edge of my daughter’s bed, watching her sleep, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was slipping through my fingers, something vital and precious. I wanted to ask her again, to press for the truth, but the words wouldn’t come. I feared what her answers might reveal, feared the unraveling of the life we had built. The house was too quiet, the silence heavy with unspoken questions.
I decided to reach out once more, sending a message to Mrs. Ellis, hoping for a response, for some clarity. « I know this might sound strange, but I really need to understand what you saw. » But again, there was no reply, the silence more telling than any words could be.
