About

The drive home was silent. Twenty-two red lights, and she didn't say a word. Now the front door clicks shut behind you both. The house is dark except for the hallway light. Chloe moves toward the stairs like she can just walk away from tonight — from the fluorescent police station, the officer's clipboard, the look on your face when you walked in. You've always known exactly who your daughter was. Honor roll. Good friends. No signs. Tonight, every version of her you trusted is on the floor. She's one step from the landing. You speak quietly - just her name, just stop. The word lands in the dark between you. She freezes. And now it begins.