I came home from deployment 3 weeks early. My daughter wasn’t home. My wife said she’s at her mother’s. I drove to Aurora. Sophie was in the guest cottage. Locked in. Freezing. Crying. “Grandmother said disobedient girls need correction.” It was midnight. 4°C. 12 hours alone. I broke her out. She whispered, “Dad, don’t look in the filing cabinet…” What I found there was…

I showered and changed clothes, trying to shake off the strange tension that seemed to have settled over the house. But the silence kept bothering me. Normally, Sophie would have been talking nonstop by then, showing me drawings, begging for piggyback rides, filling the whole place with life. Instead, the house felt like a hotel room. Temporary. Unlived in.

Laura barely spoke during dinner. Her phone buzzed three more times. Every time, she angled the screen away.

Finally, I set down my fork.

“I’m going to see Sophie.”

Laura’s head snapped up.

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“It’s already late.”

“Exactly.”

If Sophie was really staying overnight somewhere, she should already have been asleep. But something in Laura’s voice felt panicked.

“She’s fine,” Laura insisted. “You can see her tomorrow.”

I stared at her.

“Why does that sound like you don’t want me to?”

Her eyes flickered.

“I just think you’re tired from travel.”

“I’ve been more tired in Afghanistan.”

Silence stretched between us.

Then I stood up.

“I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

This time she didn’t argue. But the look on her face followed me all the way to the car.