Still.
Empty.
Emily lay on the bed.
Curled to one side.
No one there.
Nothing there.
But the mattress—
was still indented.
Right beside her.
I rushed to her.
Scooped her up immediately.
“Mommy?” she mumbled, half-asleep.
“I’ve got you,” I whispered, my voice shaking despite everything I tried to control.
I didn’t look back at the bed.
I couldn’t.
That night, she slept in our room.
Between me and Daniel.
He groaned when I woke him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, irritated.
“I saw something,” I said.
He sighed.
“You’re overreacting,” he muttered. “It’s probably the mattress settling or—”
“Daniel,” I said sharply.
He stopped.
Because he heard it.
The fear.
“She wasn’t alone,” I said.
The next morning, I showed him the footage.
At first, he tried to explain it.
Physics.
Pressure.
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