C22 Twenty-two

Clyde

"I think it's Anthony," I muttered, staring at the text. My voice sounded unsure, even to me. When I looked up, Medora was curled up on the floor, rocking back and forth, her knees pulled tightly to her chest. The panic on her face was unmistakable, and I hated seeing her like that.

"I know it's not my mom or dad... I just don't know, Clyde," she said, her voice trembling