I scrolled to the afternoon clip and hit play.
The video showed the front walkway, the gate, the porch. I heard footsteps on gravel, then the squeak of the gate. Their figures appeared, small and warped by the lens.
Then I heard my mother’s voice.
Small. Shaky.
“I can’t keep this from my daughter,” she whispered. “She deserves to know what you told me.”
My heart stopped.
There was a pause.
Then Alyssa’s voice, low and steady.
“You’re not ready to tell her yet,” she said. “She might… react badly. We should wait a little longer.”
Every hair on my arms stood up.
Mom again, stronger this time.
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