Saturday arrived swathed in a bright, cheerful mood quite contrary to the storm of emotions brewing within me. The sunshine spilled through the leaves of the tall oaks lining the street, casting playful shadows on the manicured lawns of our new neighborhood. Each house stood proudly, modern yet inviting, with well-kept gardens and welcoming porches. This was not the rundown slum Martha had imagined—far from it.
As the clock ticked closer to noon, I busied myself with final preparations, making sure every detail was in place. The aroma of fresh flowers mingled with the scent of polished wood floors, enveloping our new home in a comforting embrace. Mark, having regained some of his composure, was nervously moving things around, his excitement barely masked by the occasional glance through the window.
“Do you think they’re coming?” he asked, his voice a mixture of trepidation and anticipation.
