Echo.

My mind buzzed with questions after Edna's unsettling revelation. It was like a storm brewing inside me, each lightning bolt a sharp query, demanding answers. So, I mustered the courage and approached Edna again, later that day, our footsteps echoed in the quiet corridor as I cornered her.

"Edna," I ventured, the weight of her words making my heart race, "about what you said earlier… about Don.

we need to talk more about that."

Edna decided to feign naivety first, “talk abut what, Echo. . . or Easter?”

“Please, stop Edna, you know exactly what I am talking about.” I said softly.

Edna's eyes, usually calm and knowing, flickered...