Strapped against her back was her six-month-old baby brother, Liam, clinging tightly around her neck.
For a second, Michael forgot how to breathe.
Sophie looked up.
When she saw him, something broke in her expression—fear, tension, exhaustion all collapsing at once.
“Dad…” she whispered.
Michael dropped to his knees.
He carefully lifted the baby from her back and held him close. Liam cried softly, his cheeks flushed and nose stuffed.
Sophie tried to keep cleaning the floor.
Michael gently took the towel from her trembling hands.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said softly. “You don’t have to do this.”
She shook her head weakly.
“If I don’t finish… Emily gets mad. She said if the house is still dirty, we won’t get dinner.”
A quiet rage burned inside Michael’s chest.
He forced himself to stay calm.
“Where is Emily?”
Sophie looked down.
“She left this morning. She said she’d be back later. She told me to watch Liam and wash the dishes and clean the kitchen and fold the laundry… but Liam kept crying… and my back started hurting… and I dropped the bottle…”
Michael looked around the kitchen.
An empty baby bottle on the counter.
Dirty dishes in the sink.
A stack of diapers.