My neighbor kept telling me she saw my daughter at home during school hours—so I pretended to leave for work and hid under her bed. What I heard next made my blood run cold.

I listened.

The clock on Lily’s dresser ticked steadily, each second landing like a drop of water in a silent room.

Minutes passed.

Then the front door opened.

Footsteps entered.

Not one set.

More.

My pulse spiked.

Then Lily’s voice.

Soft. Familiar.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Quick. Come in.”

Children’s voices answered her—whispered, shaky.

“Is your mom home?” someone asked.

“No,” Lily whispered quickly. “She’s at work. It’s okay. You can stay until lunch.”