Why had Laura looked so nervous?

Why hadn’t Evelyn answered her phone when I called?

And why did all of this feel so wrong?

Twenty minutes later, I turned onto the dirt road leading to Evelyn’s property. Her house sat at the end of a long gravel drive surrounded by leafless cottonwood trees.

The moment my headlights hit the house, my stomach dropped.

Every window was dark.

No lights. No movement. Nothing.

I stepped out of the truck and knocked on the front door.

“Evelyn?”

Silence.

I knocked again.

Still nothing.

Cold wind moved across the yard. Then I heard it.

A sound so faint I almost missed it.

A muffled sob.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

“Sophie?”

The sound came again. Weak. Trembling.

“Dad?”

My blood turned to ice.

“SOPHIE!”

“I’m here!”

The voice came from behind the house.

I ran across the yard toward the small guest cottage Evelyn used for storage.

And then I saw the padlock.

Locked.

From the outside.

Sophie’s crying echoed through the door.

“Dad, it’s cold… please hurry.”

Rage exploded inside me.

My hands shook as I looked around the yard. Then I spotted a crowbar leaning against the shed. I grabbed it and jammed it into the lock.

Metal shrieked.

One hard pull.

Two.

The lock snapped.

I ripped the door open.

A wave of freezing air rushed out.

And there she was.

My daughter sat curled on the concrete floor in her pajamas. No coat. No shoes. Her small body shook violently from the cold. Her cheeks were red from crying.

“Sophie…”

I dropped to my knees and wrapped my arms around her. She clung to me like she was drowning.

“You came,” she whispered.

My chest burned.

“How long were you in here?”

“Twelve hours.”

My vision turned red.

“Twelve?”

She nodded weakly.

“Grandmother said disobedient girls need correction.”

The words sliced straight through me.

“What did you do?”

“I spilled milk.”

That was it.

Milk.

I picked her up immediately. Her body felt like ice.

“We’re going to the hospital,” I said.

But before I carried her outside, Sophie grabbed my sleeve. Her eyes were wide with fear.

“Dad…”

“What is it?”

She swallowed hard.

“Don’t look in the filing cabinet.”

I blinked.

“What filing cabinet?”

“In here,” she whispered. “Please… don’t.”

The fear in her face stopped me cold.

“What’s inside?” I asked.

She shook her head quickly.

“I don’t know. But grandmother said if anyone ever looked inside… everything would be ruined.”

My pulse began to pound.