“Grandma…” his voice came through in a whisper so faint I almost thought the call had dropped. “Lily screamed from Mark’s room.”

I pushed back from the kitchen table, my heart instantly racing. “Where’s your mom?”

“At work. She’s not answering. Mark told me to stay in my room… but Lily screamed again. And then… it went quiet.”

The way he said quiet made something cold settle in my chest.

I grabbed my keys without even turning off the stove. Normally, it took twelve minutes to reach my daughter’s house across suburban Ohio. That night, I got there in seven. Rain battered the windshield, blurring headlights into streaks of light. I tried calling Claire three times—nothing. So I dialed 911 and reported a possible emergency involving children.

When I pulled into the driveway, the downstairs was completely dark, but a dim yellow glow spilled from the upstairs hallway.

Noah opened the door before I could knock. His face was pale, his hands twisting his pajama shirt.

“He locked it,” he whispered.

“Locked what?”

“His bedroom.”

I didn’t hesitate. I rushed past him and climbed the stairs, ignoring the pain in my knees. At the end of the hallway, Mark’s door was shut tight. From inside, I heard his voice—low, tense.

“Lily, stop crying. You’re making this worse.”

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