Her reaction confirmed my worst fears.
Something was very wrong.
“Emma, I just want to help,” I said softly, stepping inside her room.
She backed away, her arms wrapped around herself defensively.
“Why did you look in my stuff?” Her voice was a mixture of hurt and accusation.
“I wasn’t snooping,” I explained, my voice steady but gentle. “The note was sticking out, and I was worried.”
She looked down, her expression still guarded.
“It’s nothing,” she mumbled, turning away.
I hesitated, unsure how to reach her.
“If it’s nothing, then why are you so upset?” I pressed, trying to strike a balance between concern and pressure.
She paused, her shoulders tensing.
“It’s just a stupid prank,” she said finally, though the quiver in her voice betrayed her.
I didn’t believe her for a second.
“Emma, you don’t have to handle this alone,” I said, my voice firm but kind.
She looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” she pleaded.
Reluctantly, I nodded, knowing that pushing too hard could drive her further away.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to act.
Whatever was happening, it wasn’t just a prank.
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