But I never imagined he’d show up like this.
“Mark… he wouldn’t hurt us,” I whispered.
Mark slowly shook his head. “He didn’t sound like himself.”
A loud crash shattered the silence.
Emma flinched in my arms.
Through the window, I saw Ethan in the living room, knocking things over. Picture frames hit the floor and broke. He staggered, shouting—words I couldn’t hear, but the anger was clear.
My chest ached.
That was my little brother. The kid who used to ride bikes with me, who cried when our dog died.
But the man inside now felt like a stranger.
Then he disappeared down the hallway.
My heart jumped.
The hallway leading to Emma’s room.
I grabbed Mark’s arm. “He’s going to think we’re inside.”
“That’s why we left,” Mark said grimly.
Moments later, Ethan came back, furious. He grabbed a chair and hurled it across the room.
In the distance, sirens began to wail.
Mark must have called the police earlier.
Ethan froze when he heard them. For a moment, he just stood there, breathing hard.
Then he turned… toward the window.
Toward the yard.
Toward us.
I stopped breathing.
Emma was completely still in my arms. Mark’s hand rested on my shoulder, steady but tense, ready to act.
For one terrifying second…
…I thought he saw us.
But then he looked away.
He staggered toward the front door just as a police car screeched to a stop outside. Red and blue lights flooded the street. Officers rushed up the driveway, grabbing him before he could react.
