There was a low murmur in the trees that night. I should have known then she was coming.
The sun had begun to set, and darkness hummed in the east with the wind. Crickets chimed as I stood on my porch, ringing like alarms. The trees in my neighborhood seemed to whisper her name is they danced around me.
Angeline, Angeline, Angeline.
Their warning gave me pause at the front door, tousling my hair, desperate to hail my attention.
But I pretended not to speak their language. “Everything is fine,” I said, slamming the front door behind me.
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