The moment the front door closed behind us, the silence felt heavier than anything inside Ezekiel’s house.

Marga’s little arms tightened around my neck as I carried her to the car. Elijah opened the back door quietly, letting me settle her into her seat without a word. Her eyes were puffy, her breathing uneven, but she wasn’t crying anymore, just exhausted, overwhelmed.

I fastened her seatbelt gently. “Baby,” I whispered, brushing her cheek, “are you okay?”

She nodded weakly, ...