It was a note, written in shaky handwriting that wasn’t Emma’s.
I read the words slowly, my eyes widening with each sentence.
“If you don’t… everyone will know,” it said.
My heart raced as I tried to process what I was reading.
I glanced toward the living room where the quiet hum of the TV mingled with Emma’s subdued presence.
I folded the note carefully and slipped it back into the backpack, my mind racing with questions.
What was this about?
And why hadn’t Emma told me?