The following week, she booked an inspection with a local contractor who specialized in older properties. On the morning he arrived, Emma left for school clutching her backpack, unaware of the quiet tremor in the house behind her. Lucy watched her go, then turned back to the wall, aware that by evening, it might no longer be just an idea.
The contractor, a broad‑shouldered man named Harris, walked slowly along Emma’s wall, knuckles rapping lightly as he went. “There’s definitely a void here,” he said at last. “Could be an old chimney breast, or a boxed‑in cupboard. Nothing dangerous, from the sound of it. These old places are full of surprises.”