As Patricia swept out of the house, I found myself standing in the hallway, a strange knot tightening in my stomach. Her presence always was like a whirlwind, leaving an unsettling stillness in her wake. But there was something more this time—something darker.
I shook off the feeling and headed toward Valentina’s room. Her door was slightly ajar, and I paused, leaning against the frame, watching her. She was sitting on the floor, surrounded by dolls mid-conversation, their pink plastic tea set laid out before her. Her long hair fell like a curtain, obscuring her face.
“Valentina,” I called softly, my voice barely more than a whisper.
