Chapter 2: The Hidden Hand
Paramedics arrive within minutes, filling the kitchen with controlled urgency. The boy is lifted onto a stretcher, still conscious but fading in and out. The father follows closely, refusing to let go of his son’s hand until the very last second.
The woman is left standing in the kitchen with a detective now questioning her.
“I didn’t do anything,” she repeats, over and over. “I didn’t do anything.”
But the detective isn’t looking at her face anymore.
He’s looking at the fridge.
Inside, the top shelf is clean. Too clean. One space is noticeably empty—like something used to sit there for a long time.
The father returns home hours later, exhausted, eyes hollow. The house is silent now.
On the counter sits a second object the police collected.
A broken security camera unit.
Not malfunctioning.
Removed.
The father stares at it, realization slowly forming.
May you like
Someone inside the house didn’t just know what happened.
They made sure it wouldn’t be seen.
