---
Sarah's mom stood frozen after the police left, her eyes burning with unshed tears. She tried to steady her breathing, but Sarah's voice on the phone kept echoing in her ears. Mom, are you there? Are you okay?
"Yes, sweetheart, I'm fine," she lied, her voice trembling. "Why are you calling this late?"
Sarah laughed lightly, oblivious. "Nothing big. I just wanted to check up on you, see how you're doing."
Her mom's throat tightened. If only she knew… "That's… nice," she whispered. "Don't worry about me, go back to your work. I'll let you go now."
"Okay. Love you, Mom."
"Love you too," she replied automatically, but the tears slipped free before she could stop them.
---
When Sarah's mom finally got home, her chest felt heavy. She tried to shake it off, but the old woman's words haunted her: The scarecrow has marked your child. Your husband is gone. How could that stranger have known?
By the time Sarah came home from school, cheerful and full of stories, her mom's nerves were stretched thin.
"Mom! Guess what happened today—"
But instead of listening, her mother grabbed her wrist, her voice sharp. "Sarah, do you have any marks?"
Sarah froze. Her stomach dropped. How does she know?
"What… what are you talking about?" she stammered.
"Don't play with me, Sarah. Show me. Any marks on your body you haven't told me about?"
Sarah hesitated, but her mom's eyes were desperate, wild. Slowly, with shaking hands, she pushed up her sleeve and revealed the mark.
Her mother gasped, stumbling back as though burned. For a moment she just stared, trembling, then snapped into action. "Pack your bags. We're leaving. Now."
"What?" Sarah blinked, stunned.
"I said pack your bags! We're not staying here another night."
Sarah yanked her arm free. "No! I'm not going anywhere!"
Her mom's voice cracked. "Sarah, you don't understand. That woman—she said you've been marked! That thing, that scarecrow—"
But Sarah's anger boiled over. "Why are you doing this to me? Every time I find a little bit of happiness, you take it away! First Dad, now this—" Her voice shook. "Sometimes… sometimes I wish I wasn't your daughter!"
The words cut like glass between them.
Her mom's face crumpled, tears spilling. But Sarah couldn't stop; she was trembling with rage. "If you want to run away, fine! But don't drag me with you. Stop treating me like I'm cursed. Stop acting crazy!"
She turned and stomped upstairs, leaving her mom broken and trembling in the living room, whispering to herself: It's not madness. It's the truth. And it's coming for her.
---