Mila stood at the doorway, her face etched with exhaustion. Weeks of unanswered calls, police reports, and a gnawing dread had aged her ten years. A persistent rap on the door shattered the fragile quiet inside. Squaring her shoulders, she opened the door a crack, the chain still fastened.
A blonde woman, a microphone shoved forward, stood on the porch. Her face, plastered a perpetual smirk, was as familiar as a bad smell. It was Linda Svensson, tabloid queen and resident vulture.
"Mila Jonsson?" Linda snapped, her voice dripping with forced sympathy. "Just a few questions about your missing daughter, Sarah, for our concerned readers." The cameraman behind her shouldered his equipment, the red light on top a malevolent eye.
"Mrs Svensson," Mila said, her voice hoarse. "I've already spoken to the police."
Linda scoffed. "The police haven't got a clue, do they? That's why we're here. To get the real story."
Mila's anger flickered. "This isn't a story, Mrs Svensson. It's my daughter's life."
"Exactly! And the readers are hungry for details. Did Sarah have any…trouble before she vanished? Boys, perhaps?" Linda's eyes gleamed with unsavoury curiosity.
Mila bristled. "My daughter is a good girl. She wouldn't do anything..."
"Oh, come on now, Mrs Jonsson. Teenagers! They get up to all sorts of mischief, don't they?" Linda nudged the microphone closer, the cameraman zooming in. "Perhaps she ran away with a boyfriend? Maybe she wasn't as innocent as you think."
Fury choked Mila. "You have no right to..."
A cough from inside the house stopped her. She glanced back, seeing her son, Joran, standing in the hallway, his face a mask of pain. He wouldn't be able to handle this.
Taking a deep breath, Mila squared her shoulders. " Mrs Svensson, please leave. We're not interested in your sensationalism."
Linda's smile faltered for a second, surprised by the defiance. Then it returned, sharper. "Sensationalism? I call it keeping the public informed! Perhaps you're hiding something, Mrs. Jonsson? Something about Sarah's disappearance you don't want the world to know?"
Mila felt a surge of nausea. "There's nothing to hide!"
"Then why the hostility? Surely you want all the help you can get?" Linda pressed, her voice saccharine. "Unless, of course, you have something to fear."
From the hallway, Joran lurched forward, his voice thick with emotion. "Leave us alone! Now!"
Ignoring him, Linda turned towards the house, microphone extended. "Is this Sarah's brother? Perhaps he can tell us what Sarah was up to before she…disappeared."
Joran sprang forward, his face contorted with rage. But Mila was faster. She slammed the door shut, locking it. The muffled shouts and thumps from outside did little to ease her churning stomach.
Tears welled in her eyes as she leaned against the cold wood. Joran slumped beside her, his head buried in his hands. All the stress, the fear, the helplessness, threatened to engulf her.
"It's okay," she said, her voice breaking. "We'll get through this."
Joran didn't respond. Outside, Linda Svensson's voice, now tinged with frustration, drifted through the door. "...investigate all angles. Perhaps the family knows more than they're letting on…"
Mila closed her eyes, shutting out the intrusive voice. They didn't need Linda Svensson's "help." They needed Sarah back, safe and sound. And they wouldn't let vultures like Linda pick away at their already fragile hope.
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