Cole paced once, anger returning. “You can’t tell me what to do in my house.”
Grant replied, “Your house is currently a recorded location.”
Cole froze mid-step. “What?”
“This call is logged,” Grant said evenly. “Your number. Your voice. Your proximity to a medical emergency. Choose your next words carefully.”
For the first time, Evelyn’s face shifted—recognition, not remorse. Like she knew that name and wished she didn’t.
Cole tried to recover his swagger. “You’re threatening me? Who are you, exactly?”
Grant didn’t answer the way Cole wanted. He asked me instead.
“Hannah—Is Cole between you and the front door?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Is Evelyn there?”
I glanced up. Her lips pressed tighter.
“Help is already en route,” Grant said.
My heart jolted. “How—”
“I made a call,” he said. “Two, actually.”
Cole’s cheeks reddened. “You called the cops?”
“I called emergency services,” Grant corrected softly. “And I called people whose job is to respond when someone decides they can trap my daughter in a kitchen.”
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