Chloe stopped with her fingers wrapped around the door handle and closed her eyes for three long seconds, letting out a sharp breath that misted in the chilly air.

“Aunt Margaret, you’re exhausted.

Please just listen to Daniel,” she said, her voice tight with growing frustration.

“I am telling you the exact truth of what is happening in this house,” I said.

“You left a gas stove filling the kitchen with fumes all afternoon,” Chloe said, opening her door and sliding quickly into the driver’s seat.

“You need to see a neurologist before you end up hurting yourself.”

“Chloe, please,” I said, leaning toward the open window.