Michael parked and stepped out.
As he approached the house, Linda let out a short laugh and grabbed a towel—not to wrap around Emily, but to wipe the kitchen table clean. Milk still dripped from Emily’s sleeves onto the floor.
Then Emily looked up.
Her eyes met the open doorway.
Wide. Afraid. Wordless.
It wasn’t a cry for help—she didn’t know how to ask anymore.
But Michael understood it instantly.
And in that moment, everything was about to change.
Michael stepped inside without raising his voice. “That’s enough,” he said calmly.
Linda turned, startled. “Excuse me? This is a private home.”
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Michael’s gaze didn’t leave Emily. Milk dripped onto the floor between them. “I said stop.”
The room went quiet. Emily’s breath hitched. Linda’s face flushed with anger and fear as Michael took out his phone, already recording.
That moment—caught between silence and consequence—hung heavy in the air, about to change every life in that kitchen.
Linda tried to recover quickly, forcing a thin smile. “You’re misunderstanding. This is a family matter.”
Michael didn’t argue. He moved his jacket from his shoulders and gently placed it around Emily, guiding her to sit. “Family matters are exactly why I’m here,” he replied. His voice stayed steady, but his eyes were unyielding.
Sirens grew louder outside. The neighbor’s call had been answered faster than Linda expected. She backed toward the counter, suddenly defensive. “She’s difficult. She lies. Her mother spoiled her.”
Emily flinched at the words, fingers clutching the jacket sleeves. Michael knelt to her level. “You don’t have to say anything right now,” he told her softly. “You’re safe.”
