The first pale light of Sunday morning filtered through the blinds as Officer Michael Miller brewed his coffee, his mind already running through the checklist of the day ahead. At 42, with salt-and-pepper hair and tired eyes that had seen too much in his 15 years on the force, Sundays were his anchor. It was the day his seven-year-old daughter, Sophie, would return from her mother’s house, filling his modest two-bedroom apartment with her bright laughter and a whirlwind of stories.
He glanced at his watch. Laura, his ex-wife, was usually punctual with drop-offs, if nothing else. The divorce had been finalized 11 months ago, and while the wounds were still raw, they had managed to establish a fragile rhythm for Sophie’s sake. The doorbell rang, and a genuine smile broke through Michael’s weary expression. He swung the door open, the cheerful greeting dying on his lips. Sophie stood on the welcome mat, her usual exuberant energy replaced by a heavy stillness. Her eyes were downcast, her small shoulders slumped in a way that made his heart clench.
