This Is Not Happening
The handwriting bore a striking resemblance to Mark’s penmanship! But Ellen knew she couldn’t jump to conclusions. She couldn’t make a judgment based on the handwriting alone. But her heart sank further when she recognized the address on the paper.
It was for a hotel back home, the Purple Rose, a place she and Mark had frequented many times in their younger years. Still, the mom couldn’t jump to conclusions. But she couldn’t deny the sickness that had suddenly gripped her body. Her stomach grumbled, and her joints quaked. Her eyes stung, and her throat was dry. “This is not happening.“