Chapter 3 - THE HEAVY DOOR
CLICK.
The heavy oak front door at the end of the long hallway unlatched.
Victoria’s eyes flicked toward the foyer, a rare spike of tension tightening her jaw. Daniel wasn't supposed to be home until Thursday afternoon.
Footsteps echoed down the hardwood corridor—heavy, hurried, and tired. Daniel walked into the kitchen, wearing a dark wool overcoat over an unbuttoned white dress shirt. He was carrying his leather briefcase, his face lined with the exhaustion of a flight bumped up to escape an Midwest blizzard.
"Hey, I managed to catch an earlier flight—" Daniel began, his voice dropping off mid-sentence.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
The warmth of returning home evaporated in a fraction of a second. His eyes swept across the kitchen floor.
He saw Emma sitting on the cold tiles in her oversized sweater.
He saw the stainless-steel dog bowl sitting between her legs.
He saw the tiny crumbs on her chin and the tears glistening on her pale cheeks.
His gaze shifted slowly from his daughter… to the dog bowl… and finally up to Victoria, who was still holding her wine glass near the counter.
Silence slammed into the room like a physical blow.
Daniel’s expression morphed rapidly—from jet-lagged confusion, to sheer disbelief, to a terrifying, pale shock.
"Emma…" Daniel’s voice trembled, barely a rasp. "What are you doing?"
Emma’s breath hitched. Terrified that she was in trouble for eating, she hurriedly wiped her mouth with her sleeve, pulled her knees tight to her chest, and lowered her head in shame.
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Victoria’s composure cracked for a microsecond before her practiced charm kicked in. She took a swift step forward, placing her glass on the counter with a soft clink.
"Don’t make a big deal out of it, Daniel," Victoria said smoothly, her voice laced with casual dismissiveness. "She refused to eat her dinner, after all. She's just being dramatic."
