<span style="font-weight: bold"><div style="text-align: center;">Abigail Benton</div></span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"Mother, please... Stop fretting over me. I am completely well"</span></span>, the young brunette protested to another woman. The two women looked a lot like each other, and it was clear they were related.<br/><br/>The older woman sighed and shook her head. <span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"Very well. I just worry about you, Abigail. Why can't you simply come home?"</span></span>. Mrs. Benton sighed softly after this question. It was not the first time mother and daughter had this conversation. At least once a week, they sat together at some restaurant to talk and spend some time together.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"Mother..."</span></span>, Abigail murmured, a clear warning sounding in her voice. <br/><br/>Mrs. Benton held one hand up. <span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"I know, I promised. I'm sorry, dear"</span></span>, the woman replied. She had promised her daughter to stop insisting in having her go back home, but her motherly instinct usually ended up getting the best of her.<br/><br/>After a moment of heavy silence, Mrs. Benton looked at her daughter. <span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"Should we order dessert, dear?"</span></span>, she asked kindly. Abigail thought for a moment and shook her head on a negative. <span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"No, mother, thank you. I really need to get going"</span></span>.<br/><br/>The younger woman held out her hand and squeezed the older woman's. <span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"Thank you for meeting with me again. It really means a lot"</span></span>. Mrs. Benton started again. <span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"If you could just..."</span></span>. She interrupted herself before continuing and sighed. <span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"I'm sorry, my love. It is stronger than my will"</span></span>, the woman explained while the girl, seemingly a bit upset, stood up.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"It is all right, mother. I know you mean no harm"</span></span>, she replied. <span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"I really must go. Send father my love"</span></span>. Without any further delay, the brunette walked to the door in long strides and left the restaurant. It would be a long walk back home, and she liked being there unless there was something important to do.<br/><br/>In reaching the warehouse, about 30 minutes after Casey, Abigail took a quick look around and walked upstairs to the office area. Gasping a little in surprise - she never really expected to see anyone in there, for some reason -, the young woman walked up to her desk and checked the note there.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"Mmmm..."</span></span>, she murmured, almost absent-mindedly. Remembering her manners, Abigail turned her gaze to Casey. <span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"I'm sorry, I was a little distracted. Afternoon"</span></span>, she greeted, sitting over her table and staring at the floor. <span style="font-style: italic">It could use some sweeping</span>, her mind alerted her. That could wait until after whatever Silverman had planned, though.</div>