I remain in the sunlit kitchen, leaning heavily against the cool granite counter as I release a shuddering breath. A whirlwind of thoughts swirls through my mind, each vying for attention. Pushing off the counter, I walk to the sleek coffee maker, desperate for something strong to steady my nerves. Since alcohol is off-limits, this will have to suffice.
As the rich aroma of brewing coffee fills the air, my phone pings with a new message. Expecting an update from Carla or another mom I met yesterday. Instead of a friendly chat, I'm greeted by an ominous text from an unknown number:
"Hope you enjoyed my little gift. Next time, it won't just be a warning."
My hand freezes mid-reach, the mug forgotten as ice-cold fear slithers down my spine. Gift? Warning? My mind races, frantically search
