The silence in the principal’s office was no longer heavy; it was suffocating. It was the kind of silence that precedes a landslide—quiet, yet vibrating with the force of the destruction about to follow.
I stared at my phone screen, the words searing into my vision: “Your baby was not the first.”
My breath came in ragged hitches. I looked up and saw Aunt Patricia standing in the doorway. I hadn’t even noticed when she slipped into the room. She was leaning against the doorframe, her face a mask of practiced concern, but her eyes were fixed on the USB drive as if she could set it on fire with her gaze.
