As the officers entered, the air in our home felt impossibly heavy, as if the walls themselves were closing in. Emma clung to me, her small frame racked with sobs, and I could feel her fear like a tangible weight pressing down on my chest. I led the officers into the living room, where the remnants of our dinner still sat on the table. It was surreal, this juxtaposition of mundane normalcy and the chaos beginning to unfold.
The officers took seats across from us, their expressions a blend of professionalism and compassion. The younger one, who introduced himself as Officer Harris, spoke gently, “Mrs. Collins, we need to understand what Emma saw last night. It’s important for everyone’s safety.”
Emma’s grip on my hand tightened. “I heard noises from the garage,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought it was raccoons again, but when I looked out my window, I saw Dad. He was… he was dragging something.”
