I glance down at the little girl.
“Who is she?” I ask, softening my voice so I don’t scare her.
My mother flinches.
My father’s shoulders slump like he’s carrying a weight too heavy to bear anymore.
Travis answers before either of them can.
“She’s mine,” he says quickly. “My daughter. I moved back here to help, and she stays with her grandparents.”
The little girl’s eyes flick to Travis, and I see it instantly: fear, not affection.
A child doesn’t look at her father like that unless home feels like a storm.
I kneel slowly, careful not to startle her. “Hey,” I say gently. “What’s your name?”
She hesitates.
Her mouth opens, then closes again.
My mother whispers, barely audible, “Lucy.”
My chest tightens. “Lucy,” I repeat softly, like I’m making a promise.
Travis steps forward abruptly. “Don’t fill her head with anything,” he warns.
I lift my eyes to him. “Back up,” I say, quiet but dangerous.
The room goes still.
My father coughs, weakly. “Eli,” he whispers. “Please… don’t.”
I rise slowly. “Dad,” I say, my voice tight, “I’m not leaving until I know what happened.”
Travis scoffs. “You’ll know what you need to know.”
I pull out my phone. I’m already recording, but I don’t make a show of it.