She always sat on the same faded wooden bench, wearing layers of mismatched clothes that didn’t belong to any season. Torn sleeves. A frayed scarf. Mud-stained boots. Matted hair twisted into a low knot. A battered teddy bear hugged to her chest like it was the last piece of her sanity.
No one knew her real name. The town simply called her the Crazy Woman of Maple Street.
Most days, she just rocked back and forth, muttering things only she understood. But one Wednesday changed everything.
Avery and her friends were halfway through the park when the woman suddenly stood. Her movements were sharp, desperate—like invisible strings pulling her upright. Her eyes widened. Her voice cracked.
And she screamed:
“Avery! Avery, it’s me! I’m your real mother!”
The world froze. Even the birds seemed to stop.
Avery’s blood ran cold.
Mia clutched her wrist. “Ignore her,” she whispered.
Jordan forced a laugh. “She’s just crazy.”
They rushed ahead, but Avery kept glancing back. The woman stood trembling, arms outstretched, tears cutting through the dirt on her cheeks.
And something inside Avery cracked.
The woman’s voice clung to her like a fog she couldn’t shake.