“Daddy… Mommy’s boyfriend hit me with a baseball bat. He said if I cry, it’ll hurt more…”

—Is he…? —I couldn’t finish the sentence.

“He’s conscious,” she replied. “But his arm hurts. He’s scared.”

A child’s sob crossed the call, weak, contained, as if even crying was something that should be done in silence.

I felt something inside me slowly breaking, like a crack that had been forming for some time and could no longer be ignored.

“Dad…” Ethan whispered, barely audible. “Are you coming?”