The scream came through the heavy drywall again, sharp and terrified, and it was unmistakably my six-year-old daughter’s voice.

Fire spread instantly across my lower abdomen as my stomach muscles clenched without warning.

The surgical tape pulled hard against my fresh incision, a deep, sickening tear that made my breath catch in my throat.

I rolled onto my side and swung my bare legs off the edge of the mattress, my feet hitting the cold linoleum.

“Brooklyn!” I called out, my voice raspy from sleep.

The room was empty.