Episode 29

The ringing of the old-fashioned landline, a relic even in my time, startled me so badly I nearly dropped the bag of crisps I’d just purchased. My heart, already a frantic hummingbird against my ribs, took flight. It was my father. His voice, usually a comforting rumble, was tight, clipped. "Emily. Come home. Now." The command was absolute, leaving no room for question, no space for hesitation. The world outside the corner market, which moments before had felt like a temporary sanctuary, suddenly seemed fraught with unseen dangers, and the only safe harbor, the only place I was meant to be, was home. I didn't question him, couldn't even muster the breath to ask why. I just turned, the crinkling bag a small, incongruous sound against the rising tide of dread, and began to retrace my steps, each footfall heavier than the last.