It was the only place that didn’t look broken. “Tessa,” I whispered. “I’m here. I’m home.” She didn’t move. The machine just kept breathing for her. The door opened behind me. It was the detective, Miller. He looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Mr. Hunter Miller said, “I’m sorry. Who did this?” I asked, not turning around.
My eyes were fixed on Tessa’s broken face. We believe it was a home invasion, Miller said. “Robbery gone wrong. It happens.” They probably panicked when she came downstairs, beat her, took some jewelry, and ran. I turned around slowly. I looked at the detective. Then I looked past him through the glass window of the room at Victor and his seven sons.
They were talking to each other, laughing. Mason, the youngest, was showing something on his phone to Kyle. A robbery, I repeated. Yes, sir. We found signs of forced entry at the back door. I looked back at Tessa. I gently lifted her arm, the one that wasn’t in a cast. I looked at her fingernails. They were clean. Detective, I said, my voice dangerously calm.
