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?”