It wasn’t a question. It was already decided.
The girl lingered behind her, small for her age, sleeves covering her hands, shoulders slightly curved inward. Her eyes stayed low, as if she didn’t want to be noticed.
For a moment, my focus wasn’t even on her it was on the pot simmering on the stove.
Then I forced a smile. “Of course. Come in, sweetheart. Grab a plate.”
She hesitated, like she needed reassurance twice before moving.
At the table, something felt off. She didn’t eat like most kids. No rushing, no second helpings, no chatter between bites. Everything was measured. One scoop of rice. One piece of chicken. Two carrots.
And she watched everything every movement, every sound like she was expecting something to go wrong.
I felt it instantly. That quiet shift in the room when something isn’t right.
Dan tried to ease the tension.
“So, Lizie, how long have you known Sam?”
