He dropped to his knees and pulled her into his arms, immediately realizing how thin she felt, and when he asked why she was in the closet, Ava buried her face against his chest. “She puts me here when you travel,” she said softly, “sometimes all night, sometimes longer.”
Michael carried her into the bedroom and turned on every light, his breath catching when he saw bruises on her wrists and marks on her ankles that no child should ever have. When he checked the closet again, he saw deep scratches on the inside of the door and dark stains on the floor that carried the sharp smell of fear.
“She locked you in there,” he said quietly, struggling to control his voice. Ava nodded and whispered that once she had been trapped for two days and had been so thirsty that she drank her own urine just to survive.
When Michael asked why she never told him, Ava explained that Brenda always stayed close during phone calls and threatened her, saying that if she spoke, something terrible would happen just like what happened to her mother. The mention of his late wife, who had died suddenly from a medical emergency less than two years earlier, made his chest ache.