A mailbox leaned toward the soaked street, and a curtain shifted as Ella checked every passing car — because even after four days, part of her still believed the next set of headlights would be her father’s.

Natalie stepped onto the porch and knocked softly. “Ella? This is Officer Natalie. I’m here to help you.”

The door opened a narrow crack, and one frightened eye appeared. “You’re not going to yell at me?”

Natalie crouched until her face was level with the little girl’s. “No. No one is going to yell at you.”

Ella opened the door wider. She was barefoot, in one of Andrew’s oversized shirts, Buddy pressed so tightly to her chest that one of the puppy’s ears was bent flat.

Her lips were cracked, her hair was tangled, and dark shadows sat under her eyes.