At Broad and 7th, I ran a red light. Didn’t even slow down.
Call again, I told myself. I did. No answer. I texted again.
“Emma, please. Lila called me. I’m coming over.”
Silence.
My thoughts were louder than the engine.
Was someone in the house? Was Emma hurt? Was Lila hiding?
Lila had never sounded like that. Ever. My sweet girl’s sweet girl — so quiet, like she was holding a secret too big for her tiny hands.
And what did she say?
“She’s pretending.”
Pretending everything was fine? Pretending for Lila’s sake? For someone else’s?
A car honked as I sped through another intersection. I didn’t care. Every second felt like a second too many. My knuckles were white on the wheel.
When you love someone that deeply, fear doesn’t knock politely. It storms in, loud and ferocious.
By the time I pulled into their driveway, my heart felt like it might burst.
The house was dark. No lights. No glow from the windows. Even the porch light — always on — was off.
I parked crooked and practically flew to the front door. I knocked once, then tried the knob.
It turned. Unlocked.
I pushed it open.
“Emma?” I called.
Nothing.
“Lila?”
Silence.
I stepped inside. The air was cold. The quiet wasn’t peaceful — it was wrong.
The living room was empty. Curtains closed. Lila’s favorite blanket draped over the couch like she’d just been there.
I walked down the hallway, every step sounding too loud. Then I heard it — faint, steady: running water.
The bathroom.
The door was closed. My phone buzzed in my hand — finally.
Spam.
I muttered a curse and moved closer. The water was still running. My heart slammed against my ribs.
I raised my hand to knock—
A scream erupted. High. Sharp. A little girl’s scream.
Lila.
I didn’t think. Didn’t breathe. I threw the door open—
And froze.
Emma was bent over the toilet, slamming the lid down like she intended to break it. Her bun was half undone, strands falling everywhere, and she was gripping a mop with both hands like it was a weapon.
Lila stood in the corner, eyes enormous, pointing at the ceiling like she’d seen something horrifying.
Both of them whipped their heads toward me like I’d barged into a bunker during the apocalypse.
“Mom!” Emma gasped.
“Grandma!” Lila squealed.
I was breathless. “What’s happening?!”
Emma blinked wildly, like she was just realizing I was there. “Why are you — what are you doing here?”
“You weren’t answering. Lila called me.”
She stared, processing.
“I thought—” My voice cracked. “I thought something terrible happened.”
“Well…” Emma glanced at the mop still in her hands. “Something did happen.”
She pointed to the toilet. “Two of them.”
