The confusion clung to me like fog as Daniel and I stood in the middle of my living room, staring at the sheet of paper lying on my desk – the missing page.
The one someone had broken into my home to deliver. A message. A threat. A warning. I didn’t know which.
My pulse hammered. Daniel stepped closer, gently touching my arm. “Jane… we should read it.”
I wasn’t ready. I was terrified of whatever truth waited on that page. But I nodded, because we had already gone too far to turn back.
I picked it up with trembling fingers.
My mother’s handwriting, the soft, looping cursive I recognized from childhood notes tucked into lunchboxes and birthday cards, stared back at me.
And from the very first sentence, my world cracked open.
The missing page explained everything. Everything I was neve
