[Emily’s POV]

I stop talking immediately when Maddie says my name. Something in her tone makes my stomach drop—it’s small and uncertain, like she’s bracing for impact.

She’s sitting on her bed across from me, hands twisting together in her lap in that anxious way she has when she’s about to say something she knows I won’t want to hear.

The way she’s staring at the floor instead of at me sends my pulse racing, because Maddie only avoids eye contact when she’s scared.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, setting my textbook aside and shifting to face her fully. The practiced smile she’s been wearing for weeks isn’t there anymore.

She just looks exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, shoulders hunched in a way that makes her look smaller than she is.

“I need to tell you something,” she says, and her voice cracks slightly. She takes a breath, steadying herself. “My dad’s been calling me. For a few weeks now.”

The words hit me like cold water. I try to wrap my head around it, like it’s a particularly difficult equation, but it’s even worse. “A few weeks? Maddie, why didn’t you—”

“I know,” she cuts me off, still not looking at me. “I know I should have told you. But I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t want to worry you, and I just—I needed time to process it myself first.”

“Process what?” My chest feels tight, like someone’s squeezing it. My mind races through the implications—weeks of calls, weeks of hiding this. “What does he want?”

“He wants to have dinner,” Maddie says, and finally her eyes meet mine. They’re red-rimmed, desperate. “Just family. He wants to talk things through, figure stuff out. He says he’s been thinking a lot, that maybe he reacted too strongly before.”

I stand up without meaning to, my body rejecting the information before my brain can catch up. “Are you serious right now? After everything he did to you—cutting you off, making you choose between him and me, treating you like you’re broken—he makes a few phone calls and you think he’s changed?”

“I didn’t say he’s changed,” Maddie says, defensive now. Her shoulders go up, that familiar armor sliding into place. “I said maybe. Maybe he has. People can change, Emily. He’s my father. He sounded genuine. He said my mom misses me.”

“Of course he sounded genuine,” I say, and my voice comes out sharper than I mean it to. I can hear the edge in it, and can feel the panic making me cruel.

“That’s how manipulation works, Maddie.” I get louder, then catch myself and tone it down. “He’s not going to call you and say ‘hey, come home so I can convince you you’re making a mistake.’ He’s going to sound loving and concerned and genuine because that’s how he gets what he wants.”

She flinches like I’ve slapped her, and I see the exact moment my words land—the way her eyes widen slightly, the way she pulls back. “You don’t know that. You don’t know him.”

“I know what he did to you!” I’m moving now, pacing because I can’t sit still, can’t process this while staying in one place.

“You do need protection from him!” I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. “Maddie, he’s been calling you for weeks. Weeks. Working on you, wearing you down, making you doubt yourself.”

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