You'll Always Have A Home With Us

In the dim glow of their bedside lamp, Joanne (Lauren Phillips) and Nick (Dick Chibbles) slip under the sheets, craving the quiet intimacy of the night. A sharp knock shatters the hush. Joanne opens the door to find her goddaughter Avery (Paisley Porter) lunging into her embrace, tears streaming. Flanked by a grim police detective, the news hits like a gut punch: Avery's parents—their closest friends—wiped out in a savage car wreck. Blood ties or not, as godparents, Joanne and Nick vow to shelter the shattered girl, pulling her into their world. Weeks bleed into unease. Nick squirms under Avery's invasive shadow, her brazen intrusions devouring their privacy, her laughter mocking the grave loss. No tears, no sorrow—just a chilling void that chills his spine. He corners Joanne one tense afternoon, voice low and urgent: something's rotten in Avery, a predator cloaked in innocence. But Joanne shuts him down, eyes fierce—trauma twists souls; they must stand firm, no questions. Nick swallows his dread, but the ache gnaws deeper: their bed's gone cold, stolen moments evaporated. With Avery vanished for a breath, he pulls Joanne close, lips crashing in desperate hunger. Hands roam, breaths ragged, bodies igniting in the shadowed room. But as moans rise, a whisper of eyes in the dark— are they truly alone, or watched by the ghost in their midst?