My neighbor kept insisting she saw my daughter at home during school hours—so I pretended to leave for work and hid under the bed. Minutes later, I heard several sets of footsteps moving through the hallway.

I froze.

Soft footsteps. More than one. Careful, hushed, like children trying not to draw attention.

I held my breath.

“Quiet,” someone whispered.

Lily’s voice.

She was home.

And she wasn’t alone.
I stayed still beneath the bed as the footsteps moved through the hallway. Several children’s voices—three, maybe four. My heart pounded.

Lily spoke gently, “Sit in the living room. I’ll get water.”

A shaky “Thank you” answered her. That voice didn’t sound mischievous—it sounded overwhelmed.

I wanted to rush out, but I stayed hidden. I needed to understand.