“Mom, my ear feels strange,” my daughter said, complaining about pain. I took her to the ent clinic right away. The doctor looked inside her ear, then suddenly stopped. “Ma’am, you need to see this,” he said, turning the monitor toward me. Deep in her ear canal, something completely unexpected appeared.

I choked on my water. Hearing someone else say it loud made it real. It felt like a betrayal of Brian, but it also felt like the truth.

“Betty plays the role perfectly,” I whispered, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “But the atmosphere… Carol, it’s heavy. When she enters a room, the oxygen leaves. I have no proof. And if I tell Brian, he just recites the same line: ‘Respect my mother, she’s from a different generation.’”

“That is a dangerous blind spot,” Carol said, her eyes serious. “If you are seeing changes in Emma, you have to find the cause. You are her only line of defense.”

“I know,” I said, gripping my fork until my knuckles turned white. “I’m going to watch them like a hawk.”

But fate doesn’t wait for audit plans.

At 2:30 PM, my phone rang. It was the school nurse.

“Mrs. Parker?” The voice was professional but concerned. “Emma is in my office. She doesn’t have a fever, but she’s… despondent. She says she doesn’t feel well and she’s crying. She just keeps asking for you.”

Panic, cold and electric, shot through my veins. “I’m coming. I’m leaving right now.”

I grabbed my bag, mumbled an excuse to my boss, and sprinted to the car. When I arrived at the school, Emma was curled up on a cot in the nurse’s office. She looked so small. Her complexion was pale, but it was her eyes that scared me—they looked ancient, exhausted.

“Mommy,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“I’m here, baby.” I sat on the edge of the cot and pulled her into my arms. She clung to me with a desperation that frightened me. “We’re going home.”

In the car, I kept my voice low and steady, trying to create a safe space within the confines of the sedan. “Is there something worrying you, Emma? Did someone say something mean at school?”

She shook her head violently. “No.”

“Is it… at home?” I watched her face in the rearview mirror. “Did something happen with Grandma?”

For a second, the mask slipped. Her eyes went wide, a flash of pure, unadulterated terror crossing her features. It was the look of a trapped animal. But then, as if a switch had been flipped, she shut down.

“No,” she said, her voice robotic. “I’m just tired. I want to sleep.”

I didn’t push it. I couldn’t risk her closing off completely. But the alarm bells in my head were now deafening sirens.

When we walked through the front door, Betty was there instantly, looming like a sentinel.

“Oh my, what happened?” she asked, her face arranging itself into a perfect picture of concern. “Is she ill? Did she catch a virus?”

“She’s just tired,” I said, stepping between Betty and Emma, physically blocking her access. “I’m going to take her upstairs to rest.”

“Of course,” Betty nodded. “I’ll bring up some chamomile tea.”

Tea, I thought bitterly. As if tea fixes fear.

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