The first pale light of Sunday morning filtered through the blinds as Officer Michael Miller brewed his coffee, his mind already running through the checklist of the day ahead. At 42, with salt-and-pepper hair and tired eyes that had seen too much in his 15 years on the force, Sundays were his anchor. It was the day his seven-year-old daughter, Sophie, would return from her mother\u2019s house, filling his modest two-bedroom apartment with her bright laughter and a whirlwind of stories. He glanced at his watch. Laura, his ex-wife, was usually punctual with drop-offs, if nothing else. The divorce had been finalized 11 months ago, and while the wounds were still raw, they had managed to establish a fragile rhythm for Sophie\u2019s sake.<\/p>\n
The doorbell rang, and a genuine smile broke through Michael\u2019s weary expression. He swung the door open, the cheerful greeting dying on his lips. Sophie stood on the welcome mat, her usual exuberant energy replaced by a heavy stillness. Her eyes were downcast, her small shoulders slumped in a way that made his heart clench.<\/p>\n
Laura stood behind her, keys jangling nervously in her hand. Her gaze was fixed somewhere over his shoulder. \u201cShe\u2019s just tired. Nathan took her hiking yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n
Nathan Bennett. Laura\u2019s new husband of three months, a fitness coach with impossibly white teeth and a bottomless supply of motivational quotes. Michael had met him exactly twice and had reserved judgment, for Sophie\u2019s sake.
\n\u201cThat right, Soph? Did you have fun hiking?\u201d Michael asked gently, reaching for her small backpack.READ MORE BELOW<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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