Marcus looked at me, wide-eyed. “Who did you call?”
I chose not to answer him.
Because the person standing on the other side of that door wasn’t there for me.
The rattling turned into heavy pounding, forceful enough to make the framed photographs on the wall vibrate. Marcus stood up halfway, caught between trying to act like the master of the house and remaining the boy who hid behind his mother’s skirts.
Diane was the first to recover her voice. “Marcus,” she hissed sharply, “do not open that door. It’s likely just one of her little dramas—one of her friends causing a scene.”
I walked to the door regardless. My heart rate stayed strangely calm, as if my body had finally decided it was finished wasting adrenaline on these people.
When I opened it, the hallway light illuminated two men and a woman. One of the men was dressed in a dark windbreaker with a badge pinned to his chest. The other carried a clipboard. The woman held a folder under her arm and wore a neutral expression that suggested she was well-acquainted with family chaos.
“Ms. Carter?” the woman inquired.
I nodded. “I am Leah Carter.”
I felt Marcus stiffen behind me. “What exactly is going on here?”
