The gravel crunched under Tasha’s tires as they turned into the driveway. Kimberly had made this drive more times than she could remember. First as a quiet child in the back seat, then later behind the wheel herself, always returning to a house that never stopped keeping secrets.

The white clapboard cottage with its blue shutters and cheerful flower boxes looked harmless enough, but she knew better. Behind those lace curtains, whispers had lived longer than truth.

But today, everything felt ...