Josh's pov
We were standing in the middle of the small, cluttered living room like we were caught stealing from the cookie jar. My head was down, my eyes fixed on a worn patch in Mabel's rug. Jolina stood beside me, her arm pressed against mine, a silent line of solidarity. The air felt thick, hard to breathe.
Mabel and Henry sat on their old sofa, their faces pale. The note—our mother's note—lay open on the coffee table between us, a silent accusation.
Mabel spoke first. Her voice wasn't loud, but it was sharp with a hurt that cut deeper than yelling. "You found her. You saw your mother… and you didn't think to tell us?"
I swallowed, my throat tight. "I didn't know what to say," I mumbled. "I thought it was just someone who looked like her. A coincidence. I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up for nothing." It sounded weak even to me.
