Diane
We finally arrived at my parent's house, an imposing structure that loomed over us with its grand façade. The sprawling estate was surrounded by meticulously maintained gardens, a testament to my mother's obsession with appearances.
As we approached the wrought iron gate, I couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety. This was my mess to clean up, my cross to bear. Despite the temptation to visit Brian first, I knew involving him would be inconsiderate. If my mother had tried to frame him, dragging him into this would only complicate things further.
When we reached the gate, the security guards, who were usually quite deferential, decided to assert their authority.
They stopped us, their expressions stern and unyielding. They seemed intent on being rude to Olsen, even though they
