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.”

I sat carefully on the edge of her bed, leaving space between us.

“Sometimes secrets get too heavy,” I said. “You can tell me if something is hurting you.”

“I can’t,” she gasped, gripping the fox. “Mom says it isn’t true anymore. She says that was the old Harper. If I talk about it, the old Harper will come back and you’ll hate her.”

A cold feeling settled deep in my stomach.

“What happened to the old Harper?”

Her terrified eyes lifted to mine.

“I’m not supposed to tell. She said the fire would come if I told.”

Before I could ask anything else, headlights swept across the wall outside.

Harper scrambled into bed and pulled the blanket to her chin.

“I’m tired now, Ethan,” she whispered.

I stood in the doorway until her breathing finally evened out.

But I didn’t sleep.