“Mr. Richardson? What's wrong? Did I say something?” I stammered, watching as Mr. Richardson's face turned pale. He clutched his chest, visibly shaken.
“Honey, are you okay?” Mrs. Richardson rushed to his side, trying to calm him, but he only pointed toward something in the kitchen cupboard.
We all turned our gaze to the antique white and gold cabinet.
“There’s a leather-bound book in there,” Mr. Richardson said, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if he were struggling to breathe.
Intrigued and concerned, I moved toward the cabinet, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and dread. I opened the ornate doors, and there it was—a thick, dusty tome with a cracked leather cover, tucked away on a high shelf. Carefully, I pulled it down and brought it over to the table.
Mr. Richardson t
