When I got home from a business trip, I found my daughter unconscious by the door.

No answer. No footsteps. No laughter.

Then I saw her.

Lily lay crumpled by the door, as if she had collapsed mid-step and no one had bothered to help her. One arm was pinned beneath her, the other stretched out near the mat. Her skin looked pale, her lips slightly gray.

For a split second, my mind refused to accept what I was seeing.

Then reality hit.

“Lily!” I dropped to my knees, hands shaking as I reached for her. Her skin felt wrong—cool, lifeless in a way that made my chest tighten. I checked her pulse. It was there, but weak and uneven.