Followed by small inconsistencies in stories given by others who interacted with her.
Each day, I found another quiet reason to worry—missed calls from school, a suspicious text about an upcoming visit from someone I barely trusted.
None of it added up, but none of it was enough to force the kind of alarm I felt now.
Tomorrow, there would be a meeting with the hospital social worker, a chance for the police to interview us again, and a looming decision about whether my daughter could stay with us or be placed temporarily elsewhere.
I keep putting it off in my mind, trying to brace myself for the questions and the judgment.
But avoidance won’t stop what’s coming.
The truth the police dog uncovered is opening a door none of us wanted to knock on, and I’m not sure who will come out on the other side.
I sat there, replaying the drive over and over in my mind, the moment the whisper left her lips and pierced the thin skin of our reality.
She sat by my side, silent now, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on her jeans.
Her eyes were fixed on the floor, avoiding mine, avoiding everything.
