The warm, gentle hands that usually held her were now stiff and a frightening shade of blue. Panic finally took hold. Maddie bolted out of the bedroom and into the hallway. Barefoot, she ran out to the landing and began pounding on the Hendersons’ door with her tiny fists. Through her tears, she sobbed about her mom’s “strange sleep” and the “bad smell” in the apartment.
It was barely 6:30 AM, but Mr. Henderson opened the door immediately. Without a word, he rushed into the apartment and stopped dead, paralyzed by the sight in the bedroom. Minutes later, Martha had Maddie in their kitchen, keeping her away from the scene as sirens wailed into the quiet suburban street. An ambulance and a police cruiser pulled up to the curb.
From the hushed, serious conversations in the hallway, Maddie caught the words “heart attack.” Even without knowing exactly what that meant, she felt the weight of the tragedy. A few hours later, after a whirlwind of paperwork and phone calls, her father arrived. Maddie hadn’t seen him in a long time; she only knew from her mother that he had a “new family” now.
In the back of her mind, Maddie had always been curious about them, even asking to visit. Sarah would just smile sadly, stroke Maddie’s hair, and say they weren’t ready for guests. Now, as her father, Mark, curtly told her she would be living with him, Maddie remembered her mom’s tone. She felt like an intruder before they even left the driveway. She began to cry, a deep, inconsolable sob.
Mark didn’t offer a hug or a kind word. With a stony expression, he took her hand, led her to the car, and put her in the backseat. Her fears were confirmed the moment they arrived at his house. His wife, Brenda, met them at the door with a look of pure irritation.
Maddie was shown to her new “room”—a cramped, windowless walk-in closet that had been cleared out. There were no bright colors, no toys, and no warmth. In the rush, Mark had forgotten her doll and her old teddy bear—the one Sarah had given her for her last birthday.
He had only grabbed a small bag of clothes: a few dresses, some sweaters, and socks. Maddie was given a narrow cot that looked like it belonged in a camp. For entertainment, Brenda handed her a beat-up box of cheap puzzles, muttering that they didn’t have the budget for “extra luxuries” for another child.
