Ruby stood barefoot, swallowed by an oversized shirt that hung past her knees. She clutched a faded teddy bear with one ear stitched back on. Her face was pale, her eyes too large, her belly tight and round beneath the fabric.
Kelly felt something twist painfully in her chest.
“May I come in,” she asked.
Ruby nodded. Inside, the house felt heavy rather than messy, as though life had paused mid breath. The refrigerator hummed almost empty. A sink held a single cup. There was no sign of chaos, only absence.
“My dad said he would be back soon,” Ruby said, staring at the floor. “He always comes back.”
“I believe you,” Kelly replied, even as she reached for her radio. “Ruby, I am going to take you somewhere safe so doctors can look at your tummy, alright.”
Ruby swayed. Kelly caught her just in time.
“Dispatch, I need medical support immediately,” Kelly said, her voice controlled but firm. “Child is weak and likely dehydrated.”
As the ambulance arrived, neighbors gathered in quiet clusters, whispering things they did not fully understand. Kelly ignored them, her focus entirely on the small girl clinging to her.