The wind continued to howl through the open garage, bringing more snow into the concrete depths of St. Anne’s.

Inside the car, Lauren held her doll tight, her small face reflecting the red and blue lights that danced across the ceiling.

And upstairs, in Room 314, Mary Grace Fitzgerald lay waiting, her breath slow and steady.

The officer stepped closer to Ethan, his hand on his holster.

“Mr. Caldwell,” the officer said. “We need you to come with us.”

Ethan looked at the back seat of the car, his eyes meeting mine.

“I have to go,” he whispered.

He didn’t fight. He just walked toward the police car, his shoulders slumped under the weight of his past.

I watched him go, the snow falling around him as he stepped into the cold Chicago night.

The door of the police cruiser closed with a heavy thud.

And then, the phone in my pocket began to vibrate.

I pulled it out, the screen glowing bright blue with a number I didn’t recognize.

I pressed the button and put it to my ear.

“Evelyn,” a voice said, weak and trembling.