I didn’t tell anyone I was coming.
As a mother, you learn to trust quiet instincts — the uneasy feelings that don’t have words yet. That morning, I couldn’t shake the sense that something was wrong. I grabbed my coat and drove straight to my daughter Claire’s house. Winter had settled in early, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones.
I let myself in using the spare key. The heater was on, and the house felt warm. I heard plates clinking and voices from the kitchen.
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