Things started changing after that.
Small at first.
Emma stopped talking about school. Stopped asking to invite friends over. Stopped leaving her room unless I called her twice.
One night, I walked past her door and heard her whispering.
I knocked. It went silent.
“Emma?”
A pause.
Then: “Yeah?”
“Who are you talking to?”
“No one.”
I opened the door.
She was sitting on the bed. Alone.
Phone in her hand.
Screen dark.
“Why were you whispering?” I asked.
“I wasn’t,” she said.
That same too-fast answer.
I stood there longer than I should have.
Something felt off.
Not wrong enough to panic.
But not right either.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
At 2:13 AM, I walked past her room again.
Her door was slightly open.
And I heard it.
A man’s voice.
Low.
Calm.
Coming from inside.