PART 2: THE FROZEN TABLE
The room plunged into an absolute, suffocating silence where even the ticking clock on the wall seemed to freeze.
My husband’s fork clattered against his china plate, the sharp sound cutting through the air like a gunshot.
“What did you just say?” I gasped, my voice barely a whisper as my eyes darted between my son and my husband.
My husband’s face drained of every ounce of color, his hands trembling violently as he gripped the edge of the dining table.
“He’s… he’s confused! He was only five years old!” my husband stammered, his voice rising in panicked desperation.
Jeremy didn’t blink, his thirteen-year-old voice steady, clear, and filled with an ancient, unbearable weight.
“I saw you from behind the oak tree,” Jeremy said, leaning forward as tears finally spilled down his cheeks. “You held her down until she stopped moving.”
(The dark motive behind this horrific act is about to be revealed! Click “Next Page” to continue reading…)
