The evening had been like any other—quiet, uneventful, with the occasional sound of wind rustling through the trees outside. I had been curled up with a book, relishing the rare moment of solitude, when the knock at the door shattered my reverie. Two officers, standing under the dim glow of the porch light, brought with them an air of unease that seeped into the house like a chill.
I had never expected such a visit. The sight of their crisp uniforms against the warm hues of the sunset seemed surreal, as if a scene from a television drama had materialized on my doorstep. “This can’t be right,” I murmured, a nervous laugh escaping my lips, but the taller officer shook his head solemnly. “Ma’am, your daughter reached out to us,” he said, his voice gentle yet firm.
The world felt as though it had tilted off its axis. Emma, my sweet twelve-year-old, stood in the hallway, her beloved stuffed rabbit clutched tightly against her chest. Her cheeks were glistening with tears, her eyes wide and sorrowful. “Mom,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “I have to tell you something…”
My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a deafening echo in the silence that ensued. I moved towards Emma, wanting nothing more than to envelop her in a protective embrace, but the officer’s outstretched hand stopped me. “Maybe let her speak,” he suggested softly.
Emma’s voice was a fragile thread as she confessed, “You told me not to talk about what happened… but I had to.” Her words were daggers, each one sharper than the last, and I struggled to stay standing. “Emma—what did you tell them?” I asked, though deep down, I feared the answer.
The officer cut in, clearing his throat as he addressed me directly. “Mrs. Collins, your daughter contacted us earlier today. She reported something concerning your husband—Mr. Daniel Collins.” My mind raced. Daniel was supposed to be in Seattle, working late into the week.
“I don’t understand,” I replied, my voice fraught with confusion. “What about Daniel?”
The younger officer exchanged a glance with his partner before speaking. “Your daughter said she saw him hurt someone.”
A heavy silence blanketed the room. I could hear the distant hum of traffic, the soft ticking of the clock, but all else seemed muted. The accusation hung in the air, heavy and unreal. I glanced around, my gaze landing on family photographs that lined the walls—snapshots of happier times, of a family I thought was unbreakable.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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