As I stood on the sidewalk, heart pounding against my ribs, it felt like the world was holding its breath. The officer’s gaze shifted from me to the second-floor window, a part of my home now shrouded in mystery and unease. I nodded, giving him the unspoken permission to enter, a silent script between us as the patrol car’s lights painted the scene in rhythmic pulses of red and blue.
The officer led a small team towards the front door. Each step they took seemed to echo in the still morning air, punctuated only by the distant sound of a neighbor’s dog barking. I remained rooted to the spot, every fiber of my being torn between wanting to know and fearing what the truth might reveal.
The cleaner was still on the porch, her expression a mix of relief and residual fear. I knelt beside her, my voice low. “Are you okay?”
