Otis's Perspective
As I reflected on our past conversations, I felt a whirlwind of emotions. There were so many things he had shared that had eluded my understanding. I recalled the moments he left for work, returning with substantial earnings, and the unsettling memory of him coming back with scratch marks on his face. It was as if the scattered pieces of a troubling puzzle were finally aligning, revealing a horrifying image that I would have preferred to have never seen.
I gradually retreated toward the trees, a deep instinct urging me to put space between myself and the unsettling thoughts swirling in my mind. This simply couldn't be real; our family was not entangled in something like this. Did my mother have any inkling, any suspicion at all?
