Instead, there was silence. And fear.
She turned slowly toward the room. Eight-year-old Sophie was half-hidden behind the door, her body turned sideways, as if she expected to be pulled back at any moment.
Her shoulders were hunched, her chin was down, and her eyes were fixed on the carpet as if she wanted it to swallow her whole.
“Sophie,” Aaron whispered, forcing his voice to sound calm as his heart began to pound. “Uh… I’m here. You can come with me.”
She didn’t move.
Aaron carefully placed the suitcase, as if the slightest noise might startle it, and approached step by step, measured.
When he knelt in front of her, Sophie shuddered, and that simple gesture triggered a jolt of alarm throughout her body.
“What hurts, darling?” he asked.
Her fingers twisted the hem of her pajama top, stretching the fabric until her knuckles turned white.
“My back,” she whispered. “It hurts all the time. Mom said it was an accident. She said I shouldn’t tell you. She said you’d get angry… and bad things would happen.”
