“No,” I said firmly. “You’re very brave.”

Not long after, Ryan’s voice echoed down the hallway.
“Mom? Where’s Lily?”

I stepped into the hall, closing the guest room door behind me.

“She’s resting,” I said. “She needs space.”

Ryan frowned. “You’re overreacting.”

Before the argument could grow, a knock sounded at the front door.

Two calm professionals stood outside—people trained to help families when children feel unsafe. They spoke gently, asked questions, and listened carefully.

Lily stayed close to me. For the first time that day, she looked like she could breathe.

By the evening, it was decided that Lily and her brother would stay with me temporarily, while everything was carefully sorted out. No shouting. No drama. Just protection.

That night, as I tucked Lily into bed, she held my hand.

“Grandma,” she whispered, “am I a bad kid?”

I kissed her forehead and smiled through tears.
“No, sweetheart,” I said. “You’re a good kid. And you were very brave to speak up.”