Chapter 89 The House On Chestnut Lane

• The drive to Ramona’s house felt like crawling through a memory, each tree-lined bend a whisper from the past. Raymond kept the car slow, cautious, as if the road itself might betray us. The faded note in his hand, torn from Grandma’s desk years ago, was our only guide.
• “Are you sure this is the address, ma’am?” he asked, eyes flicking between the paper and the winding lane.
• “Yes. Chestnut Lane, number forty-three,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. “Ramona used to drop us off here after work. Her house wasn’t far.”