“Mom, wake up.” My eight-year-old daughter shook me in the middle of the night. “Dad and Grandma are burying something in the garden.” I looked out the window and saw my husband and mother-in-law holding shovels, lowering a large bag into the ground. The next morning, my daughter and I dug it up. The moment I saw what was inside, I grabbed her hand and ran from the house.

Harper sat beside me quietly while pushing cereal around her bowl and glancing at me every few seconds as if she needed confirmation that the memory had not been a dream.

Brandon leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

“You okay, kiddo?” he asked casually.

Harper flinched slightly and lowered her eyes.

“I’m fine,” she whispered.

Brandon looked toward me with a brief sharp expression before chuckling lightly toward his mother.

“She’s dramatic sometimes,” he said. “She gets that from her mom.”

Judith laughed softly.

“Sensitive girls imagine things,” she said sweetly while stirring her tea.

My stomach turned but I forced myself to smile politely.

“We both slept badly,” I replied calmly. “Just strange dreams.”

Brandon seemed satisfied with the explanation and pushed his chair back.

“I need to run a few errands,” he said while grabbing his keys.

Judith looked up. “I’ll stay here and keep things organized.”

Brandon left around ten in the morning.

The moment his car disappeared down the street Judith began cleaning the kitchen counters with unusual intensity while humming quietly.

Her eyes kept drifting toward the garden through the back window.