.
Harper hadn’t been pretending. She hadn’t been inventing monsters. She had been describing tactics—ways to cope, ways to survive. She had been navigating something on her own, finding safety inside a home I believed was secure.
The realization came without drama. No explosion. Just a slow, icy clarity that settled deep into my bones.
In the weeks that followed, I started seeing everything differently.
I noticed how Harper flinched when voices grew louder, even in excitement. How she instinctively positioned herself between me and Mila whenever tension crept into a room. How she drifted toward corners, closets, quiet spaces when emotions sharpened.
I listened more carefully.
I stopped brushing off small remarks.
I asked questions I’d been too afraid to ask before.
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