Chapter 1 — The Backpack
Inside Randy’s backpack was his Mother’s Day card.
The edges were bent. The front was covered in crooked hearts and one tiny stick-figure version of me wearing a crown. Underneath, in Randy’s messy handwriting, it said:
For Mom. Don’t open until Sunday.
I broke before I even opened it.
The little girl stood on my porch, crying silently.
“What’s your name?” I whispered.
“Mia.”
I unfolded the card with shaking hands.
Inside was not the sweet message I expected.
It was a warning.
Mom, if something happens, ask Mia. Don’t let them say I was sick. I told Mrs. Harper and she got mad. I’m scared.
The world tilted.
I grabbed the doorframe with one hand and held the card with the other.
“Mia,” I said, my voice barely working. “What happened?”
She looked over her shoulder like someone might be watching.
Then she whispered, “They told us not to tell.”
