Arriving home before dawn, the house was silent but for the faint hum of the dryer. Pizza boxes, chip bags, and Coke bottles littered the coffee table. The living room smelled of neglect. The bedroom door was half-closed, yet a small, broken sound pierced the quiet: Noah’s cry. Weak, dry, fragile.
I ran. Emily was pale, unresponsive, soaked in sweat,continue reading …
