“They are doing what they have to do, Marissa,” he said quietly.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you aren’t the only one who sees what Landon did to you.”

A cold sweat broke out across my forehead.

I looked back at Rowan, his chest rising and falling to the mechanical rhythm of the machine.

His tiny fingers twitching against the white sheet.

The glass door slid open again.

The woman in the business suit walked in, followed by a man in a dark blue uniform.

A heavy silver badge glinted on his chest under the bright fluorescent lights.

“Marissa Bellamy?” the woman asked, her voice polite but firm.

I nodded, my grip tightening on the armrests of my wheelchair.

“I’m Sarah Jenkins from Department of Social Services,” she said.

“And this is Officer Miller with the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department.”

“We need to talk to you about what happened at your house this morning.”

Before I could answer, the screen of my purse—which Arthur had brought from the house—lit up on the bedside table.

It was Landon’s old backup phone, the one I had forgotten was in the bottom of the bag.