Jennifer’s POV
The night was wrong.
Not just quiet—wrong. It was the kind of silence that made my skin crawl, like the trees themselves were holding their breath, waiting for something terrible.
I sat on the edge of my bed, fingers twisted in the thin blanket, eyes fixed on the darkened window. The clouds smothered the moon. The air pressed heavy. And then—
Creak.
My head snapped up.
The porch boards groaned under a weight. A hand rattled the knob. The door whined, protesting, and my heart slammed into my ribs so hard I almost cried out.
No. No, it couldn’t be—
But it was.
He stood in the doorway.
My father.
His shoulders filled the frame, older but still cruel, his eyes glassy and sharp, his breath sour with whiskey even from across the room. My whole body locked in place, memo
