Chapter 2: Whispers in the Bedroom**
David crept up the wooden staircase, skipping the third step that always groaned under his weight. The hallway was shadowed, the morning sun failing to penetrate the upper floor. He gently pushed open the door to Emma’s bedroom.
The six-year-old was curled beneath her pink duvet, clutching a worn stuffed rabbit that had once belonged to her mother. Her blonde hair spilled across the pillow, but her eyes were wide, staring blankly at the wall.
""Hey, bug,"" David whispered, sitting on the edge of the mattress.
Emma turned slowly, her movements sluggish, like someone moving underwater. ""Daddy... am I bad?""
""What? No. Why would you ever think that?""
""Grandma said I’m clumsy because my brain is tired,"" Emma mumbled, her small lower lip quivering. ""She said if I drop things, people will think I'm sick like Mommy.""
A surge of protective fury flared inside David's ribs, hot and sharp, but he forced his features into a warm, reassuring smile. He brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead, noticing how cold her skin felt.
""You are not clumsy, Emma. You're six years old, and bowls are slippery. That’s all."" He leaned down, his voice barely audible. ""Emma, look at me. The tea Grandma gives you before bed... does it taste bitter?""
Emma blinked slowly, thinking hard. ""A little bit. Like crushed pennies. She puts extra sugar in it, but it still smells weird. She watches me drink all of it.""
David pressed a kiss to her temple, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm. ""Listen to me very carefully. From now on, you only drink water or milk that I pour for you. If Grandma gives you a cup, you tell her your tummy hurts and you pour it in the bathroom sink when she looks away. Can you do that for Daddy?""
May you like
Emma nodded solemnly. David stood up, his resolve hardening like iron. He wasn't dealing with grief; he was dealing with a predator under his own roof.
---
