Meanwhile, at home, Annabelle had just woken up from her nap. The soft, warm embrace of her duvet reluctantly released her as she stretched and yawned. The sunbeams filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow in her room. It was a peaceful afternoon, or so she thought.
With a soft sigh, she threw her legs over the edge of the bed and slipped her feet into her slippers. Her home was usually a sanctuary, a place of comfort, but today it was about to turn into a battleground.
Annabelle padded downstairs to the kitchen, her tousled hair framing her sleepy face. Unbeknownst to her, a storm was brewing at the dining table, where Lydia Sherly's friend had taken up residence, engrossed in her phone. She was a guest in Annabelle's home, but she had intentions far from being a gracious one.