Father slowly turned his head toward the front of the house, his face completely drained of color.

The front doorbell began to ring, a steady, persistent chiming that did not stop.

Nobody moved.

The pool water lapping against the blue tiles was the only sound left on the patio.

“Go inside, Maya,” Father said, his voice dropping to a low, harsh whisper.

He did not look at me when he said it.

His eyes were locked on the wooden gate at the side of the house.

The blue and red lights reflected off the chrome of the outdoor grill.

“I am not going anywhere,” I said.

My voice sounded small, but it did not shake.

Chloe wiped her nose with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of mascara on her skin.

She stepped closer to me, her shoulder pressing against my scarred arm.

It was the first time in years she had voluntarily touched my skin without flinching.

“They are here for you, Dad,” Chloe said, her voice carrying across the silent yard.