Documenting.
That word became the thin line between horror and action.
Not gossip.
Not suspicion.
Not one uncle’s grief turning into accusation.
Documentation.
A record.
Proof with dates, names, signatures, and time stamps.
Through the glass, Peter saw Drew lying in a hospital bed while a cast began to harden around his leg.
Lily slept curled against his side, one hand tucked into his blanket.
Even unconscious, Drew’s arm rested around her.
Peter stood there and felt something in him settle.
Not peace.
Not calm.
A decision.
The first officer returned to the hospital around 11:20 a.m.
His expression told Peter before his words did.
“They found the basement door,” he said quietly.
Peter did not sit down.
The officer looked toward the children’s room, then back at Peter.
“There was a deadbolt on the outside.”
Peter closed his eyes.
The officer continued.
“There was a small room downstairs. Blanket. Bucket. Scratches near the door frame. We’re processing it.”
Peter could hear the hospital around him.
