A Small Hand Reaches for Help
The kitchen phone sat on the counter near a bowl of fruit.
Emmett walked toward it as quietly as he could. His hands shook so much that he nearly dropped the receiver.
He glanced once more toward the hallway.
Another sound came from the bedroom.
This time, his eyes filled with tears.
But he didn’t shout.
He pressed three numbers.
The call connected.
A calm woman’s voice answered, “911, what is your emergency?”
Emmett swallowed hard. His voice came out small.
“I think my mom and dad need help.”
The woman’s tone softened, steady and reassuring. “Okay, sweetheart. You’re doing very well. Can you tell me where you are?”
Emmett whispered the address, his voice trembling.
Then a deep voice came from the hallway.
“Who are you talking to?”
Emmett’s entire body turned cold.
The voice was not his father’s.
