I tried the lock. The bar held.
I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed the spare key from the kitchen drawer—the one Emily insisted we keep for emergencies—and slid the door open.
“Lily,” I said, kneeling beside her.
She looked up slowly, her eyes glassy. “Daddy,” she rasped. “Aunt Sarah said I have germs. She said I can’t come in.”
Her skin burned with fever. High fever. And she had been sitting in the cold too long—her little body was losing the battle.
I scooped her up, wrapped her in my jacket, and carried her inside.
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