The house was silent when I stepped inside, a stark contrast to the usual chaos that greeted me after a business trip. My suitcase thudded softly on the wooden floor, the echo lingering far longer than it should have. I glanced around, expecting Sophie to bound down the hallway, her laughter spilling over as she always did, arms outstretched, ready to leap into my embrace. But there was only stillness.
I felt a knot tighten in my chest. Sophie was eight, and her joy was usually irrepressible. I shrugged off my jacket and left it on the couch, my mind unable to shake the feeling that something was off. The door was still unlocked, a small detail that seemed suddenly significant.
I started toward her bedroom, each step measured, the weight of an unknown dread growing. The hallway stretched before me, an expanse of carpet and quiet. As I reached her door, I hesitated, fingers brushing the wood before gently pushing it open.
There she was, half-hidden behind the door, her small frame seeming even smaller, her shoulders hunched forward protectively. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, refusing to meet mine.
“Sophie,” I said softly, trying to infuse calm into my voice. “Hey. I’m here now. You can come to me.”
She didn’t move, didn’t even look up. Her fingers twisted the hem of her pajama shirt, knuckles whitening with the pressure.
“Papa…” she whispered, the words barely audible. “My back hurts so much I can’t sleep. Mommy said I’m not allowed to tell you.”
The words struck me like a physical blow, a cold heaviness settling in my chest. My heart pounded louder, each beat echoing the confusion and fear.
I knelt down, trying to bridge the distance, but she flinched when my hand brushed her shoulder. “Please—don’t,” she cried softly. “It hurts.”
My heart broke a little more. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice cracking despite my efforts to hold it together. “I didn’t mean to. Tell me what happened.”
She hesitated, her gaze darting toward the empty hallway, fear etched onto her young face. “She got mad,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “I spilled juice. She said I did it on purpose. She pushed me into the closet. My back hit the handle. I couldn’t breathe. I thought I was going to disappear.”
A wave of anger surged within me, battling with the sadness that had taken root. I didn’t know what to say, how to make this okay. But I knew one thing for certain: things couldn’t stay as they were.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
