No message from my mother. No message from my father. No message from Amanda asking if Lucy was okay. No attempt to apologize. No frantic “we didn’t know” or “we’re coming over.”
That absence was loud.
The next morning, the heatwave continued like nothing had happened. The sun rose bright and cruel. Birds chirped. The world acted normal, which felt obscene.
Lucy sat on the couch wrapped in a blanket like a burrito who had been through something. She stared at cartoons without laughing, thumb in her mouth for the first time since she was three. Chris hovered near her like a guard dog.
My phone rang. Unknown number again.
Officer Miller’s voice was the same as before. “Ms. Walker, we need to schedule a formal statement. Either later today or tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” I said immediately. I needed time. I needed to gather myself. I needed to make sure I wasn’t walking into a room where my family could twist the narrative before I knew which direction was up.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll confirm a time.”