He looked at her quizzically.

  “I spoke to Mrs Murphy today.”

  Her stomach clenched. “Why would you…?”

  “She called me. Said one of the other parents had told her there’d been an incident at the park.”

  Tanya’s pulse jumped. “Grace overreacted. She twisted everything.”

  “She said Ella pushed another child into the river.”

  “She didn’t push her. She tripped. It was an accident.”

  Jonah sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Tanya, come on. Even if it was, it’s serious. The school’s worried. Mrs Murphy said she’s been talking about Lila again. In the present tense.”

  Tanya folded her arms. “You don’t get to walk in here quoting counsellors like you’re the expert.”

  “I’m her father.”

  “And I’m the one actually raising her.”

  Jonah’s tone softened. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

  “Yes, I do. You made sure of that.”

  He looked at her as though she were both fragile and dangerous. “Tanya, I’m not here to fight. I just think…”

  “No. You came here to judge.”

  “I came because I’m scared.”

  “Of what?”

  He hesitated. “Of you getting in over your head. Of her not being safe.”

  Tanya laughed, a sound too sharp to be real. “Safe? You think she’s unsafe with me?”

  Jonah’s eyes flicked toward Ella, who had gone back to drawing.

  “She needs professional help. Trauma therapy. Maybe medication. I’ve spoken to a specialist in Portland who…”

  “You’ve what?”

  “Don’t look at me like that. I had to do something. The school’s preparing a report. They think she’s dissociating.”

  “She’s ten,” Tanya snapped. “You think she’s schizophrenic because she talks to her dead sister?”

  “I think she’s hurting,” he said quietly. “And I think you are too.”

  Tanya’s voice trembled. “Don’t you dare make this about me.”

  “You moved her halfway across the country. You cut me out of everything.”

  “She needed a fresh start.”

  “She needs stability.”

  “Which you never gave her!” The words tore out before she could stop them. “You were gone half the time even before…” She stopped, the memory too sharp to touch.

  Jonah’s face hardened. “We’re not doing this.”

  “No, we are.” Her voice rose. “You act like you’ve got the moral high ground, but where were you that day, Jonah? Where the hell were you?”

  He went pale. “Don’t.”

  “You said you were watching. You said…”

  “Stop.” His tone snapped like a whip. “I’m not doing this with you.”

  The silence that followed was suffocating. Ella looked up, pencil hovering.

  “Mommy?”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” Tanya said, forcing calm. “Go upstairs, please. Take your drawings.”

  “I want Daddy to stay.”

  Jonah managed a weak smile. “It’s late, bug. You need to sleep.”

  “Can’t I stay up?”

  “No,” Tanya said gently. “Off to bed.”

  Ella gathered her papers, her face clouded with disappointment. She hugged Jonah again, whispering something neither of them caught, then padded up the stairs. The moment she disappeared, the air between her parents shifted to become taut, and electric. Jonah spoke first. “

  Mrs Murphy says she’s filing a formal referral. If you don’t cooperate, child services might get involved.”

  “Did you call them?” Tanya demanded. “Tell me the truth.”

  He looked genuinely shocked. “Of course I didn’t.”

  “Don’t lie to me. Who else would feed them those stories?”

  “Tanya…”

  “She’s fine!”

  “She’s not fine!” he shouted. “And neither are you!”

  The words hung there, impossible to take back. Tanya’s eyes filled.

  “You think I’m crazy.”

  “I think you’re overwhelmed, and you don’t even see it.”

  “Leave.”

  He stepped closer. “You can hate me all you want, but if you refuse help, I’ll go to court. I’m not letting you destroy her.”

  Her hands shook. “Get out.”

  “I mean it, Tanya.”

  “So do I.”

  Jonah stared at her for a long, unbearable moment. Then he grabbed his coat, jaw clenched.

  “This isn’t over,” he said, his voice low. “I have a say in our daughter’s wellbeing too.”

  He opened the door and slammed it behind him. The sound rattled the windows and sent Mittens scurrying under the table. Tanya stood in the echo, breathing hard. The house settled back into silence, but it felt violated now, the air thick with accusation.

  She poured the last of the wine into her glass and drank it down in one swallow. From Ella’s room, a floorboard creaked. She found herself heading towards it, moving without decision. Halfway there, she paused beside the small bookshelf. A framed photograph sat there of the twins at six years old, with their identical smiles, identical dresses, identical light. It had been taken the summer before the accident, before everything turned. She ran her finger along the glass.

  “I’m trying,” she whispered.

  Ella’s door was half-closed. Tanya knocked softly.

  “Sweetheart?”

  No answer. She pushed the door open. The room was lit only by the glow of the bedside lamp. Ella’s drawings covered the wall now. There were dozens of them, the same two girls by the lake, their joined hands bleeding together like reflections.

  “Ella?”

  A shape moved under the duvet. Tanya crossed the room and knelt beside the bed.

  “Are you hiding?” she asked, trying to sound playful.

  A small voice came from beneath the blanket. “Don’t let Daddy take me away from you, Mommy.”

  Tanya’s stomach dropped. “What?”

  “Lila says he will.”

  Her voice was lower, distant, as if spoken from deep inside the mattress. Tanya smoothed a hand over the duvet, searching for her daughter’s outline.

  “No one’s taking you. Daddy just came to visit.”

  The blankets shifted. “Lila says he wants to make me go with him.”

  Tanya’s mouth went dry. “That’s not true.”

  “He said we’re not safe here,” Ella whispered.

  Tanya could feel her pulse hammering in her throat.

  “You are safe. I promise.”

  “Lila says promises don’t stop people.”

  Tanya’s hand froze. “Lila’s gone, sweetheart.”

  A pause. Then, softly: “No, she’s not.”

  Something in the child’s tone made the hairs on Tanya’s arms rise. She pulled the duvet back just enough to see her daughter’s face. She looked pale, her eyes fixed on something that wasn’t there. Tanya cupped her cheek.

  “Listen to me. I won’t let anyone take you.”

  The words came out sharp. Not comfort, but vow. Ella blinked slowly.

  “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  The silence that followed was complete. Tanya leaned down and kissed her forehead.

  “Go to sleep now.”

  Ella nodded, eyes already closing.

  “Goodnight, Mommy.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Tanya stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching her small, still form, and the rise and fall of her breath, and the cat curling close beside her. When she finally turned off the lamp, the room was swallowed in shadow.

  Downstairs, Jonah’s last words lingered like a curse. This isn’t over. Tanya went back to the sofa, opened another bottle and poured another glass of wine. She sat in the dim light, listening for movement, for whispers, for the soft creak that meant Ella was still there.

  “I won’t let him take you,” she murmured again. Outside, the wind shifted, rattling the windows. Somewhere in the house, or beyond it, a small sound rose, almost like laughter, before fading into the rain.

  9

  The knock came precisely at two. Tanya had been watching the clock for ten minutes, pacing between the sofa and the window, pretending to tidy the same stack of magazines. The living room looked immaculate. The cushions were fluffed, toys hidden, a bowl of fruit she’d bought for show sitting on the table. The faint smell of furniture polish clung to the air, overdone.

  When the knock came again, she called brightly, “Coming!” and opened the door to a woman holding a clipboard and a calm, professional smile.

  “Mrs Anderson? I’m Carmen Reyes, from Child Protective Services. We spoke earlier this week.”

  “Yes, of course.” Tanya stepped back quickly. “Please, come in. Sorry about the weather.”

  “It’s Oregon,” Carmen said with a polite smile. “We get used to it.”

  She was small, mid-forties perhaps, dark hair in a low bun, eyes that missed nothing. Her tone was friendly without softness. A laminated badge swung from her lanyard. Tanya’s gaze caught on it longer than she meant.

  “Thank you for agreeing to the visit,” Carmen said, stepping inside. “It shouldn’t take long. Just a routine process.”

  “Of course,” Tanya said again, too fast. “Everything’s fine.”

  Carmen glanced around the room, taking in the spotless surfaces, the faint chemical scent. “Is Ella home?”

  “She’s drawing. She does that a lot.” Tanya turned to where her daughter sat cross-legged on the rug, a pad of paper on her knees, pencils arranged in careful lines.

  “Hi, Ella.” Carmen crouched to her level. “I’m Carmen. Can we talk for a bit?”

  Ella looked up. Her eyes were pale blue, almost translucent in the afternoon light.

  “Okay.”

  Carmen smiled. “What are you drawing?”

  “Girls,” Ella said.

  “What kind of girls?”

  “Just girls.”

  Carmen waited, pen poised, but Ella didn’t add more. Her pencil rolled slowly from her hand to the floor. Tanya laughed softly, but it felt forced.

  “She’s shy with new people.”

  “That’s fine,” Carmen said, straightening. “Why don’t we start with you, Mrs Anderson? A few questions about routines, school, that sort of thing.”

  “Of course.” Tanya perched on the sofa, hands folded tight in her lap.

  “How’s Ella’s sleep?”

  “Good. Fairly normal. She goes to bed around eight, sleeps through.”

  Ella’s voice drifted from the rug. “Sometimes I wake up.”

  Tanya smiled too quickly. “Only sometimes.”

  Carmen noted it down. “And meals?”

  “She eats well. Loves fruit. Always gets her five a day.”

  “And school?”

  “She’s settling in.”

  Ella’s pencil scratched against the paper. “I don’t like school.”

  Tanya’s pulse ticked. “She means she misses her old one. She had friends there.”

  Carmen nodded. “How about discipline? How do you handle conflict?”

  “Conflict?” Tanya gave a short laugh. “There isn’t any. She’s a good girl.”

  Carmen smiled politely. “All children test boundaries.”

  “Not Ella.”

  The air thickened. Carmen glanced again at the child, who now sat perfectly still, both hands folded in her lap, gaze blank.

  “Ella,” she said gently. “Do you ever get upset at home?”

  “No.”

  “Do you ever feel scared?”

  “No.”

  “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

  “No.”

  Her voice was flat, and it sounded rehearsed. Carmen’s pen paused mid-stroke. Tanya felt heat rise in her chest.

  “She’s nervous. It’s intimidating for a child.”

  “Of course. These visits can feel formal.”

  “See? Everything’s fine.” Tanya gestured around the immaculate room. “She’s fine. I’m fine.”

  Carmen’s gaze moved slowly across the living room. “You’ve kept it very tidy.”

  “I like order.”

  “Children can be messy.”

  “Not Ella.”

  Carmen wrote another note. Tanya fought the urge to lean forward and see it. A soft thud broke the silence. Mittens trotted into the room, tail high, a limp grey mouse hanging from his mouth. He dropped it on the carpet at Carmen’s feet.

  “Oh God.” Tanya’s voice cracked. “Not now.”

  Carmen stepped back, hand to her mouth. “It’s all right.”

  “It’s not all right.” Tanya grabbed a tissue and scooped up the small body, wincing. “He’s never… I don’t know why…”

  “It’s normal for cats,” Carmen said gently. “Bringing gifts.”

  “Not here. Not today.”

  Tanya hurried to the kitchen, dropped the mouse into the bin, washed her hands. When she returned, Carmen sat with her clipboard balanced on her knee. Ella was still drawing, unbothered.

  “I’m so sorry,” Tanya said breathlessly. “That’s never happened before.”

  “No harm done,” Carmen said, her voice softening in the professional way that meant everything was being noted.

  Tanya forced a smile. “Where were we?”

  “I think we’re almost done.” Carmen scanned her notes. “Do you have any support here? Family, friends?”

  “I manage fine.”

  “And Ella’s father?”

  “He visits.”

  “How regularly?”

  “When he can.”

  Carmen nodded. “Do you feel you have enough help?”

  “I don’t need help,” Tanya said too sharply. Then, forcing calm: “We’re fine. Really.”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to see when you need extra support.”

  Tanya’s smile froze. “We’re fine.”

  Carmen looked down at her paperwork. “You asked earlier who contacted CPS. I can’t disclose names, but this was a safeguarding visit, based on information from a concerned member of the public.”

  Tanya’s pulse jumped. “A member of the public?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it Grace?” she demanded. “Or Jonah?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Of course you can. It’s my right to know who’s spreading lies.”

  “It’s not about lies,” Carmen said evenly. “It’s about ensuring Ella’s wellbeing.”

  “She’s well. You’ve seen that.”

  “I have,” Carmen said, her tone careful. “I’ve also noted a few inconsistencies. That’s common when families are under stress.”

  “I’m not under stress,” Tanya snapped. “I’m angry. There’s a difference.”

  Carmen didn’t respond. She packed her papers into her folder and stood. “I’ll write up my notes and send you a copy. There may be follow-up recommendations, but nothing immediate.

  Tanya rose too quickly. “You mean you’re going to write lies about us.”

  “I’ll write what I observed.”

  Her gaze drifted to Ella, taking in the stillness, the small red marks at the crook of her elbow where she’d been scratching earlier.

  “You have a lovely home,” she said softly. “I hope you’ll consider the support that’s being offered.”

  Tanya smiled tightly, escorting her to the door. “We don’t need support. We just need to be left alone.”

  Carmen paused on the step, rain beading on her jacket. “It’s never easy being a single parent, Mrs Anderson. You’re doing your best.”

  “I am,” Tanya said. “And my best is enough.”

  When the door closed, she stood there for a long moment, hand still on the handle. Through the frosted glass, Carmen’s shadow lingered briefly before moving away down the path.

  Outside, in her car, Carmen opened her file and wrote: Child presents as calm but detached. Answers appear rehearsed. Physical signs of anxiety (self-scratching). Parent over-asserts control and denies need for support. Referral originated from school counsellor, Mrs Murphy, citing concerning behavior and isolation.

  In the kitchen, Tanya tore open the CPS leaflet Carmen had left behind. Her eyes skimmed the phrases that made her jaw clench. It was all about family support services, trauma counselling, mandatory cooperation.

  Ella stood in the doorway, clutching one of her drawings. “Is that lady gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she think we were bad?”

  “Of course not.”

  “She asked funny questions.”

  Tanya forced a smile. “It’s her job. Some people like to make problems where there aren’t any.”

  “She said she wanted to help.”

  “We don’t need help.”

  Ella’s fingers worried the paper edge. “Lila says only bad people keep secrets, Mommy.”

  The words sliced through Tanya’s composure like glass. “What did you say?”

  “She said only bad people keep secrets.”

  “That’s enough about Lila,” Tanya said sharply. “You’re not to talk about her anymore. Do you understand?”

  Ella nodded, unblinking. “Okay.”

  Tanya grabbed the leaflet, tore it into strips, and shoved them into the bin. The sound was quick, violent. From the hall, Mittens meowed softly.

  “Go watch some TV,” Tanya said, her voice low. “Or do your reading.”

  Ella obeyed, slinking out of the room. Tanya listened to her walk to her room and close the door, choosing reading over TV. She stayed at the table for a while, staring at nothing. Then she heard a faint murmuring. Ella’s voice floated down the corridor, quiet and rhythmic, as though speaking to someone else. Tanya held her breath, straining to catch the words.

  “Lila says they don’t like us,” the voice whispered.

  Tanya’s heart lurched. She didn’t move.

  A pause. Then, softer: “She says we should be careful.”

  The sound made her skin crawl.

  “Stop it,” Tanya said to the empty room, her own voice shaking. “Stop.”

  But the murmuring went on, low and steady. Tanya pressed both hands to her face. She looked to the floor, where one strip of the leaflet had fallen free of the bin. A single line still legible under the harsh kitchen light: If you or your child are in danger, please reach out for help.