I still hear my own terrified whisper begging the 911 dispatcher to hurry, because I was certain the sudden silence downstairs meant I’d just lost my mom forever.

The call came a week later.

Mom was in the kitchen making toast when her phone rang. She picked it up, and her face went white.

I knew who it was before she said a word.

“Lila, baby, c’mon,” Dad’s voice slurred through the line, loud enough for me to hear from across the room. “Bail me out. This was all a mistake. Vince made me do it. I’d never hurt you, you know that.”

Mom’s hand shook so bad she almost dropped the phone.

“David,” she said, her voice tight. “Don’t call me again.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” he said, his voice turning sharp, angry. The voice I knew too well. “You think you can do this without me? You think you can take care of the kids alone? You’re nothing without me.”

Mom hung up.

She blocked his number right there, her fingers fumbling with the screen. Then she sat down at the table, and put her head in her hands, and cried.

I went over and hugged her.

“He can’t hurt us,” I said, repeating the words Clara had told me a hundred times. “He’s in jail.”

But the fear didn’t go away.

It got worse a few days later, when we went to the grocery store.

We were walking down the cereal aisle, Ethan begging for Froot Loops, when I heard a man’s voice behind us. Deep, rough, just like Dad’s.

I froze.

My chest got tight. I couldn’t breathe. I grabbed Ethan’s hand so hard he yelped, and I backed up against the shelf, my eyes darting around for a place to hide.

Mom turned around, saw my face, and wrapped her arms around both of us.

“Hey, hey,” she said, soft. “It’s okay. That’s not him. Look.”

I peeked over her shoulder. It was a stranger, pushing a cart with a baby in the seat. He smiled at us, confused, and kept walking.

I slid down to the floor, gasping for air, tears running down my face.

Ethan sat next to me, quiet, and held my hand.

Mom knelt down in front of me, her eyes full of guilt.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think.”

We left the store without buying anything.

Officer Hayes came to see us that night. She brought us pizza, and sat with us at the small table in the shelter’s common room.

“David’s lawyer tried to get him bail today,” she said, her voice flat. “The judge said no. He’s staying in jail until trial.”

Mom let out a breath she’d been holding.

“Also,” Officer Hayes said, leaning forward. “Vince is talking to the prosecutors. He’s scared. He doesn’t want to take the fall for all of it. He’s willing to testify against David, if we cut him a deal.”

My stomach twisted. I remembered Vince laughing that night, the sound that had made my skin crawl.

“Will he get in trouble?” I asked, small.

Officer Hayes nodded. “He will. Not as much as David, but he’ll go to prison. He was there. He participated. He deserves it.”

She looked at me, her eyes kind.

“We have a strong case, Chloe. We have your 911 call. We have the photos of your mom’s injuries. We have Vince’s testimony. David is not getting out of this.”

I nodded, but I didn’t feel better.

That night, I had a nightmare.

Dad was out of jail. He found our shelter room. He broke down the door. He yelled, and he hit Mom, and Ethan was crying, and I couldn’t find my phone to call for help.

I woke up screaming.

Mom ran from her bed, and held me until I stopped shaking.

“It was just a dream,” she whispered, over and over. “He’s not here. We’re safe.”