On the third morning, I’d had enough.
“I’m going to start cleaning the property this weekend,” I told Declan. “You’re welcome to help, but I’m doing it either way.”
He barely looked up.
“Fine. Don’t expect me to get involved.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
That afternoon, while I was at work, my phone rang.
Declan’s name appeared on the screen.
When I answered, his voice sounded unusually serious.
“Layla, I’m at your grandmother’s house.”
I frowned.
“What are you doing there?”
There was a pause.
“I found something.”
“What do you mean?”
“Something unexpected. I don’t even know how to explain it.”
My first thought was that he’d discovered water damage or some major structural issue.
“Is the house okay?”
“Just get here. Please.”
He ended the call.
I drove to the property with my stomach in knots.
Declan was waiting at the front door.