I called out, my voice trembling, trying not to shout, while still peering through the urm crack.
I didn’t say everything.
I just repeated my address and asked them to come immediately.
Mark didn’t hear me at first.
He kept talking to Sophie with practiced patience, like a man who believes his every gesture deserves trust, even when it already smells like a lie.
She was curled up in the bathtub, her knees drawn up to her chest.
She wasn’t crying.
That’s what broke my heart the most.
She looked like a child trained to obey.
When I pushed open the door, Mark turned his head slowly, not quite startled.
As if even then he still thought he could explain everything and continue to be in charge.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
He didn’t even sound furious.
He sounded annoyed, as if I had interrupted some random household chore, as if I were the intruder in that house.
