…casting an eerie glow over both our yards. The lights flickered once, then settled into a steady, unsettling brightness that bled into the night.
My mother, still reeling from the day’s events, sank into the worn-out armchair by the window, her eyes fixed on the illuminated stump as if waiting for it to tell her its secrets. My father, on the other hand, couldn’t sit still. His mind, always analytical, was running through every possible scenario that could explain what we’d witnessed.
“Why would Collins lie?” he muttered to himself, pacing back and forth. “And why would he let those men in without saying a word to us?”
