Lily’s dimly lit room seemed to shrink as Emma stood frozen in the doorway, her breath caught in her chest. The scene before her was one of quiet horror—a tableau that defied everything she thought she knew about the man she had married. Mark was kneeling by Lily’s bed, his hand outstretched not with the care of a father but with an unsettling, invasive intent. His eyes, usually warm and comforting, were clouded with something that made Emma’s stomach turn.
“Get away from her!” Emma’s voice shattered the oppressive silence, raw and trembling with fury. Mark jerked back as if struck, his eyes snapping to meet hers with a mix of shock and guilt. He rose slowly, hands raised as if to placate a wild animal.
“Emma, it’s not what it looks like,” he started, his voice a feeble attempt at calm. But Emma was beyond words, beyond rationality. Her vision tunneled, focused solely on getting to Lily, on putting herself between her daughter and the man she no longer recognized.
