Chapter Ninety-One.

"Where is she?"

Pushing a lump down her sore, dry throat, Joan asked. For some reason, she’d escaped eye contact with the woman before her. She had luscious dark red hair just like that photo she’d seen of Miranda and that was not the only feature common to the both of them.

It wasn’t exactly rocket science that she was her daughter.

“I’m Emma” She’d introduced the moment she pushed open the doors and Theo sauntered right behind Joan whose countenance had fallen beyond. He stole casual glances from the corner of his eyes and even his unconcerning veneer was very unbelievable.

He saw how bereaved she was as she sat into the caramel brown couch and Emma had walked back to her with a cup of coffee. The farmhouse bungalow was eerily silent and occasionally the winds that blew in swayed the cream curtains side by side. Joan was in the couch, just opposite Emma but Theo was standing with his back wedged against the walls.

His arms were folded, just like hers.

“Where is she?” Was the questi