But she shook her head. “No. It’s not nothing.”
I didn’t press her. Some people carry stories they’re not ready to share, and I’ve learned it’s better to let them unfold on their own terms.
When I finally headed back home, she thanked me again—twice, maybe three times. I waved it off, went inside, and didn’t think much more about it.
Until the next morning.
It was just after 9 a.m. when I heard the knock.
Not a casual knock—the kind that lingers with purpose. Three firm taps, evenly spaced. It immediately set me on edge.
When I opened the door, I was met with the sight of a sheriff standing on my porch.
For a brief moment, my mind raced through every possible explanation. Had something happened? Was there an emergency? Had I done something wrong without realizing it?
“Good morning,” he said, his tone calm but serious. “Are you [your name]?”
I nodded. “Yes… is everything okay?”
He studied me for a second, like he was measuring his words. “I’d like to talk to you about your neighbor, Mrs. Daley.”
My stomach tightened.
“Is she alright?” I asked quickly.