My new wife’s seven-year-old daughter burst into tears every time we were left alone together. Whenever I gently asked her what was wrong, she would only shake her head silently. My wife would just laugh it off and say, “She simply doesn’t like you.”

Maya’s face hardened.

“Those bruises are not accidental,” she said. “This is coercive abuse. If I examine Harper and confirm what I suspect, I’m legally required to report it.”

“I know,” I said. “But Clara is smart. We need enough that she can’t twist it.”

Three days later, Clara left for another business trip.

The house became quiet again.

But it no longer felt peaceful.

It felt like something counting down.

That Friday night, Harper and I built a blanket fort in the living room. Inside the little cave of sheets and pillows, she whispered, “Ethan?”

“Yeah?”

“Can somebody be two different people?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like a mom who buys you dresses… but also a mom who makes you bite the rabbit?”

My throat tightened.

“Some people carry darkness inside them,” I said carefully. “But darkness never gives anyone permission to hurt you.”

Harper went upstairs for a moment. When she came back, she was carrying Scout.

She held the stuffed fox for several seconds before placing him in my hands.

“I want you to keep him.”

“I can’t take your favorite toy.”

“Yes,” she said. “Look at his back.”

I turned Scout over.