Denial and Doubt
Mark’s face darkened; doubt shadowed him. His new wife, Sarah, peered from the corridor, her gaze flicking between us, sensing the tension. I couldn’t let them dismiss it as the ravings of an old woman drowning in grief. Anna’s life hung by a thread, and I owed her the fight for the truth.
“We need to call the police,” I pressed. “They must examine her car. If Anna’s right, whoever did this is still out there.”
Mark hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “Mom, you want us to believe Anna communicated with you from a coma? That’s… a lot.”
I held his stare, steady. “I taught her Morse code. She remembered. This isn’t some fantasy. You know Anna—she’s a fighter. We can’t ignore what she’s trying to tell us.”
He looked torn—ripped between disbelief and the nagging sense that my words might be valid. Sarah stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm. “If there’s even a shadow of a chance this wasn’t an accident, we owe it to Anna to check.”
