Inside Lily’s room, the moonlight filtering through the curtains cast long shadows that seemed to quiver with Emma’s mounting fear. Mark stood next to Lily’s bed, his back turned to the door, his posture tense and looming. Lily’s eyes were wide, pools of fear reflecting the dim light. A stuffed rabbit lay discarded on the floor, its button eyes staring blankly upward.
Emma’s voice cracked like an overdrawn bow on a violin string, sharp and fierce, “Mark! What are you doing?”
The question hung in the air, electrified by the storm of emotions whirling inside her. Mark spun around, surprise etched into the furrows of his brow, but Emma didn’t register his expression. Her focus was on Lily, who looked toward her mother with a mixture of relief and trepidation.
