Officer José López had seen countless emergencies in his twelve years on the force, but the dispatcher’s trembling voice that night told him this call was different.
“Eight-year-old female, alone in residence,” the message crackled. “Caller states, ‘It was my dad and his friend… please help.’”
Red and blue lights splashed across Maple Street as López arrived. The neighborhood looked ordinary — peaceful porches, quiet streets — but he knew appearances could be deceiving.
He knocked gently. A small, pale girl appeared, eyes red from crying.
“Are you the police?” she whispered.
“Yes,” López said softly, kneeling. “You must be Liliana. I’m Officer López. You did the right thing calling us.”
“My tummy really hurts,” she murmured.
Inside, the dim living room glowed from a flickering TV. López spotted her mother lying in the bedroom, weak and pale, a half-empty bottle of pills nearby. Liliana quietly explained her dad and his friend had left, instructing her to keep silent.
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