My daughter called me crying, “Dad, please come get me.” When I arrived at her in-laws’ house, her mother-in-law blocked the door and said, “She’s not leaving.” I pushed past her—and the moment I saw my daughter on the floor, I realized this wasn’t “family drama.”

“Sophie is resting,” Victoria answered smoothly, delivering the lie with unsettling confidence. “She experienced emotional instability earlier, and your presence will only intensify her distress.”

“She called me crying,” I said quietly, stepping closer. “Undo that latch immediately.”

“This situation concerns family,” Victoria insisted, her voice edged with superiority. “You are interfering unnecessarily.”

“I am her father,” I answered, my patience dissolving rapidly. “Open the door right now.”

Moments later, resistance collapsed beneath inevitability, and I brushed past Victoria into a foyer heavy with stale air and something sour lurking beneath artificial fragrance.

Inside the living room, Brandon stood rigid near the window, pale and silent, while Gregory Hayes lingered behind him, arms folded defensively across his chest.

Then I saw her.

Sophie sat curled tightly against the far wall, knees drawn inward, her body language radiating terror so profound it physically constricted my breath.

“Sophie,” I whispered, dread detonating fully as she lifted her head.