MARGARET'S POV
"Well, she's heavier than I thought."
Marissa's voice trembled as she struggled to grip the ends of the sheet, Ava's limp, bloodied form sagging in the middle. My daughter's face was pale as the moon, sweat dripping down her temples.
"Shut your mouth and keep moving," I snapped, hoisting my end higher. My back screamed with the effort, but I refused to falter. "If anyone sees this,"
"Mama," Marissa whined, stumbling as the sheet slipped from her hands, "I think she's... she's still breathing."
"Good," I hissed. "That means we have less time to waste."
We shuffled toward the back door, every second stretching into eternity. My heart pounded, not with guilt—never that—but with fear of being caught. The last thing I needed was some nosy neighbor sniffing around.
I shoved
