When I received a call from my daughter, Aurora Wilken, I shot up in bed and stepped on the cold floor with my bare feet.“Aurora, is that really you? It’s Mom.”The line crackled with static before her voice grew clearer.“Mom, didn’t we just pay the electric bill yesterday? The power went out. I’m so scared. Where are you, Mom? Please come home.”It was my daughter’s voice!There was no mistaking it!Wait!A power outage?A sudden rush of fear seized me, and my breath quickened.Three years ago, the power in our building mysteriously went out the day Aurora died.She was murdered in our own home. Even in her final moments, she was waiting for me.However, I was stuck at the office and occupied with an important project. I could not get back to her.I told her to wait with a flashlight. Then, I called my husband, Sam Wilken, and asked him to go home instead.Aurora was twelve, and she had just finished sixth grade. She was enjoying her first summer break without homework.
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