Clyde
"I think it's Anthony," I muttered, staring at the text. My voice sounded unsure, even to me. When I looked up, Medora was curled up on the floor, rocking back and forth, her knees pulled tightly to her chest. The panic on her face was unmistakable, and I hated seeing her like that.
"I know it's not my mom or dad... I just don't know, Clyde," she said, her voice trembling. She let out a shaky sigh, fear etched in every word.
Slowly, she stood, her movements stiff and
cautious, as if the act of rising took all her energy. She walked over to me, turning her back without a word. It took me a second to realize what she wanted. I reached for the zipper on her dress and slid it down. She stepped out of the garment, leaving herself in just her underwear, the silky material clinging to h
