Madelyn
I fumbled with the groceries in my hands, juggling bags heavier than I remembered. The driver had insisted on helping get whatever I wanted and hang around in case I needed to go out, but I’d insisted I could manage on my own. Now, as I wrestled with the bags, I cursed myself for it. Why had I insisted? Every step toward the house felt like hell, my arms screaming, the canvas bags threatening to rip under the weight of tomatoes, bread, and who-knows-what else.
I reached the door and twisted the knob, fingers slippery from sweat. The knob turned too easily. My stomach dropped. Did I lock it before leaving? I cursed under my breath, “stupid Madelyn… how could you go out leaving your door open?” I mutter to myself.
The bags slipped slightly in my grip, and I tried to steady them, s
