Chapter 3: Evelyn Already Knew
My phone buzzed across the tray beside me, edging toward the plastic water cup.
Not Grant. Never Grant.
The screen lit up with a name I had not expected at 1:17 in the morning.
Evelyn Whitmore.
Grant’s mother. The woman who once smiled across Thanksgiving silver and told me, “A girl from Iowa can learn table manners if she listens more than she speaks.”
I answered on the second ring.
“Caroline,” she said.
Not honey. Not are you okay? Just my name, polished and cold.
“I’m in the hospital,” I said.
“I know.”
That was the first crack in the night. Small, sharp, and full of meaning. I stared at the ceiling tile above me and felt something colder than fear settle in my chest… Continue Reading ⬇️
