Today, something else emerged.

A small figure stumbled from the tree line. Blonde hair tangled with burrs and leaves. A pink t-shirt torn at the shoulder. And in her arms, a bundle clutched so tightly her knuckles were white.

“Maisy?” I whispered, the name choking me.

My legs moved before my brain caught up. I was sprinting across the lawn, my bag forgotten on the driveway. As I got closer, the picture sharpened into a nightmare. Maisy was barefoot, leaving bloody footprints on the grass. Her legs were lacerated, dirt-streaked, and trembling. But it was the way she held Theo—like a shield, like a lifeline—that stopped my heart.