Face down. Barefoot. Phone still clutched in her hand.
No signs of struggle.
No broken glass.
No forced entry.
Just… silence.
The kind that makes your stomach turn.
Neighbors in the quiet suburban street said they heard nothing. No scream. No crash. No argument. Just the usual hum of early morning—coffee machines, sprinklers, distant traffic.
And yet, there she was.
Gone.
