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.”
