My son h.it me last night and I stayed quiet. This morning, I laid out my lace tablecloth baked a full Southern breakfast, and then set the good china like it was Christmas.
“Sit down, Daniel,” Sheriff Reed said evenly. “We need to talk about last night.” The only sound in the room was the ticking clock. Daniel stood frozen, finally realizing the breakfast was not an apology—it was a reckoning. He hesitated, glancing between the sheriff and the pastor, searching for humor that didn’t exist, before sinking…
