The next morning, a familiar voice echoed through the sterile corridors of the hospital. Richard Whitman, Laura’s father, had arrived. He was a burly man with a kindness in his eyes that made everyone around feel slightly safer. Laura’s heart leapt at the sound of his voice, though her body remained motionless.
Ethan greeted Richard with feigned grief, clasping his hand and speaking with the rehearsed sorrow he had worn like a second skin since Laura’s “death.” “It was so sudden, Richard. She didn’t make it,” Ethan said, his voice dripping with insincere regret.
Richard’s eyes flickered with suspicion, but he nodded, his heart heavy with the supposed loss of his daughter. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Laura had always been meticulous and careful, traits she had inherited from him. The suddenness of her passing felt wrong, like a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece.
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