The hours crawled by with agonizing slowness. Each minute felt like an eternity. Each second stretched until I thought I might scream just to break the suffocating silence. Damien had eventually come back downstairs after his phone call with whoever he'd been coordinating with. He'd brought us food—stale bread that tasted like cardboard, bottled water that was lukewarm, and some crackers that crumbled into dust between my fingers. He'd checked on Charlotte, tried to play the doting father role that made my skin crawl and my stomach turn with revulsion. "She's beautiful," he'd said, touching her soft cheek with fingers that had killed. That had murdered my daughters. That had pushed me down stairs. "She looks just like me, doesn't she?" I'd bitten my tongue until I tasted blood. Forced myself to nod. To play along. Because what choice did I have? Charlotte's life depended on my cooperatio
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