One hand was still gripping my suitcase handle. My heart was beating so hard it felt as though it were shaking the air inside my chest.
This wasn’t a tantrum.
It wasn’t a child being dramatic.
This was fear.
I turned toward the bedroom and saw my daughter, Sophie, half-hidden behind the door, as if she thought someone might pull her away from me at any moment.
Her shoulders were tense. Her eyes were fixed on the floor.
She looked small in a way no child should ever look.
“Sophie,” I said, keeping my voice as calm as I could. “Daddy’s here. Come here, sweetheart.”
She didn’t move.
I set down my suitcase and slowly walked toward her, as though one wrong step might make her disappear.
When I knelt in front of her, she flinched, and a cold wave ran through me.
“Where does it hurt?” I asked.
