Chapter 2: The Envelope She Was Never Supposed to See
Karen's face went white the moment she saw the uniforms.
"This is a misunderstanding," she said, stepping back.
"He spilled juice all over my dress.
I just needed him to calm down."
One of the officers looked past her toward the balcony door.
"Sir, how long was the child outside?"
My father didn't answer.
He was still holding me, my whole body trembling against his chest.
"She locked him out," Grandma said.
Her voice was steady.
Cold.
"A seven-year-old boy.
In January.
In his pajamas."
Karen spun toward her.
"You had no right to bring police into my home—"
"It's not your home," my father said quietly.
The room went still.
Karen opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
That's when Grandma reached into her coat pocket and placed something on the table.
A small envelope.
"Your mother left this with me," she said, looking directly at me.
"She told me to open it if anything ever happened to you."
May you like
Karen's eyes locked onto that envelope.
And for the first time all night, she looked genuinely afraid.
