I WOKE UP TO FIND MY DOG STARING AT ME—AND THEN I SAW WHAT WAS UNDER THE BED (5 of 10)

The more I watched her, the more I realized how badly she needed help. Not the kind you find in a hospital or a cop station. The kind that starts with trust.

On the third night, just as I was drifting off on the couch, I heard soft footsteps and found her standing in the hallway, hugging herself.

“I had a brother,” she whispered.

I sat up. “Yeah?”

“He told me stories. About magic trains and flying cats. Every night before bed.”

I smiled gently. “Sounds like a cool brother.”

“He died last year. After that… things got worse.”

That’s when she started to tell me.

Her stepfather wasn’t who he pretended to be. Her mom didn’t believe her. So she ran. Took a bus, then walked for miles, hiding in garages and under porches. She’d picked my house randomly when it started raining. The back door had been unlocked.

I should’ve been scared, or maybe mad.