Ethan had come back.
And he wasn’t alone.
May be an image of child
PART 2
The doorknob turned again, slower this time—and then I heard it clearly: two sets of footsteps moving through the house.
Ryan pressed himself tighter against me on the bathroom floor, his forehead damp with sweat, his breathing shallow and uneven. I still had 911 on the line, the phone clutched so tightly in my hand it almost hurt.
“They’re on their way,” the operator whispered, calm but urgent. “Do not open that door under any circumstances.”
Ethan came in first. I recognized him instantly—not by sight, but by the rhythm of his steps. Quick. Controlled. The way he always moved when he thought he could still fix everything, still clean up whatever mess he’d made.
The woman with him wore heels. Thin ones. Each step clicked sharply against the floor, echoing through the house like a countdown ticking closer and closer to something irreversible.
“They’re not here,” she said.
There was a pause—short, tense—and then I heard the dull thud of a suitcase hitting the floor.
“What do you mean they’re not here?” Ethan snapped, his voice tight with irritation.
He moved quickly through the living room, then into the kitchen. Cabinets opened. Doors slammed shut. A second later, his footsteps shifted direction—straight down the hallway. Toward us.
Ryan’s fingers dug into my wrist with desperate strength. I stroked his hair, trying to steady him even though my own hand trembled uncontrollably.
The bathroom handle jerked violently.
“Emily,” Ethan called, and the softness he used to fake before was gone. “Open the door.”
I stayed silent.
He rattled the knob harder.
“I know you’re in there.”
The woman spoke again, quieter this time, but I could still hear the fear creeping into her voice.
“I told you we should wait. I told you.”
“Shut up.”
His palm slammed against the door. Once. Then again, harder. Ryan flinched beside me.
“Emily, listen to me. Things got out of control. Just open the door and we’ll talk.”
I leaned closer to the phone, my voice barely steady.
“He’s here. He’s trying to break in.”
PART 3
The door shook under Ethan’s force, each ضرب echoing through my bones like a countdown to something final. Ryan clung to me, his breathing uneven, his small body trembling against mine. I wanted to be strong for him, but fear clawed its way up my throat. “Police are coming,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure if I was reassuring him or myself. Outside, Ethan’s voice grew sharper, more desperate—like a man losing control of a script he thought he had mastered.
