Medical reports.
Police reports.
Protective orders.
Trust filings.
Digital forensics.
Insurance notices.
Statements from neighbors who suddenly remembered hearing things.
A woman across the street named Mrs. Bell admitted she had seen Sophia standing on the porch barefoot one night, crying, while my mother blocked the door.
“Why didn’t you call anyone?” Detective Harris asked her.
Mrs. Bell cried.
“Eleanor said Sophia was having a breakdown. She said calling police would make it worse.”
That was another thing my mother understood.
Most people do not ignore suffering because they are evil.
They ignore it because someone gives them a comfortable excuse.
Sophia came home after six days.
I carried Leo inside first.
Then I helped her across the threshold.
She stopped in the foyer.
The house was clean.
Too clean, maybe.
The carpets had been washed. The broken vase was gone. The nursery had new curtains because Sophia could not look at the old ones without shaking.
