MRS. Harlow had just stepped out of her bathroom, beads of water glistening on her skin, her body wrapped neatly in a white towel. She reached for the smaller towel by the mirror and began to dry her hair. Just then, her phone buzzed loudly on the dresser.
She glanced at it. ‘Adrian.’
Her brows furrowed. A cold scoff slipped from her lips before she answered.
“Hello?” she said, her tone stiff, clipped.
“Mom… good evening,” Adrian’s voice came, soft but tense.
“Evening,” she replied flatly. Gone were the days when she would brighten at the sound of his voice, treating him like the son she never had. Now her tone was layered with ice, as though every word was dragged out of her.
There was an awkward pause before Adrian spoke again.
“Mom, Amelia has left the house. She took Hazel with
