Lydia's Point Of View
The declaration hung in the air like thick, toxic smoke after a gunshot. I stood there, my fingers digging into the velvet upholstery of a chair just to keep from collapsing. My legs had turned to water.
"Don't ever call this number again," Aunt Rita's voice came through the speaker one last time, cold and sharp as winter frost. "And don't you ever, ever disturb my daughter. If you even breathe in her direction, you'll find out exactly what I'm capable of."
Click.
The dial tone that followed was the loneliest sound I'd ever heard. Silence descended on the room… a heavy, suffocating blanket of it. Nobody moved. The air itself seemed to hold its breath. I couldn't even hear anyone breathing, though my own heart hammered so loudly I thought it might crack a rib.
We all just stared at that black phone on the mahogany table like it was a corpse we'd collectively murdered.
Then came the explosion.
