I spent the next three days trying to
convince mom and dad to look in the attic, while ‘helping’ with various tasks
to help get the house looking good. This wasn’t turning out to be a
particularly good summer holiday, even though I was only five days into it. At
least I had three months to try and get them to believe me.
“Dad, come and check the attic,
please! I swear that the angels are up there!”
I would plead, or ask mom, which had
even less success.
“Sara, if this is a joke, please drop
it! We’re really beginning to worry about you!”
They would say every time. But this
was no joke, and I wasn’t going to drop it. I had to prove that I wasn’t mad.
I had to get evidence.