But as I pulled up to Jean’s house, I felt uneasy. The house looked the same as always, but something felt… wrong. Maybe it was just me being silly.
Or maybe it was the way Jean opened the door. “Abby! You’re here!” she greeted me with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
But something about her demeanor felt… off. She was too cheerful, too composed like she was holding onto a script. I glanced around the house, expecting to hear the usual chaos of toys clattering or kids yelling.
But the house was silent. Dead silent. “Where are the kids?” I asked again, glancing around the empty living room.
Normally, by now, they’d be running to me with hugs and excited stories. Jean’s smile didn’t waver, but something was unsettling about the way she clasped her hands together. “Oh, they’re inside,” she said breezily, gesturing toward the house.
“They’ve been so busy today—lots of work.”
I frowned. “Work? What kind of work?”
Jean chuckled nervously and waved her hand like I was being silly.
“Oh, just little things. Helping out their grandma. You know how kids are, always eager to lend a hand!”
I didn’t know what she meant by “work,” but her tone was off—too sweet, too dismissive.Continue reading…
