My name is Emily. I’m 20 years old, and my grandfather, Walter, is 76.
Three months ago, something began happening in our family that I didn’t even dare tell my mother about.
Every morning, Grandpa came to our house and waited until my mother left for work.
The moment the door closed, he approached me.
“Emily, get ready. We’re going again today.”
At first, I tried making excuses.
“Grandpa, please, I don’t want to go today.”
But he always gave me the same answer.
“We can’t stop now. You know
how important this is.”
I silently picked up my bag.
The most frightening part was that Grandpa had strictly told me not to tell anyone about our meetings.
Especially my mother.
I still remember the first day.
We reached a remote part of the forest where the road ended, leaving only a narrow path winding between the trees.
