EMILY
Jake had left the house a few minutes ago, right after breakfast. He needed to go to the bank because his ATM card was acting funny.
“There we would sit, singing hymns all night,” Jake said to me last night, his eyes wide with excitement, though nearby seeming distant into the past. “Those were good days, Em, I swear they were.”
He loved his family and it was a matter of time before I would see them. I was sure of this.
The residence we were in appeared to be a vintage bungalow from the exterior, yet it was evident that it had undergone a thorough refurbishment in recent times. The outside façade boasted a charming, albeit slightly antiquated aesthetic, complete with imposing pillars and a detached garage, which lent an air of sophistication to the overall design. In stark cont
