My sister-in-law called me from a resort, asking me But when I arrived at their house, something felt wrong. The front door was unlocked. The air smelled stale, the kind of mustiness that meant no one had been around for days. I called out, “Bailey? Here, girl!” Silence. No nails clicking against the floor, no bark. I walked through the living room—dog bowls empty, couch unmade. Then I heard it: a faint sound, like a whimper, coming from the back hallway.
I followed it to a closed bedroom door. “Hello?” I knocked gently. No response, just another muffled sob. My chest tightened as I turned the knob. The door was locked from the outside. My hands trembled while I searched for a key. Finally, I found one on top of the doorframe. When the lock clicked open, I froze.
Inside, sitting on the floor, was Ethan—Tom’s 5-year-old stepson. His small face was streaked with tears and dirt. His lips were dry, his hands shaking. “Ethan?” I whispered. His eyes widened, like he couldn’t believe I was real. “I’m hungry,” he murmured, voice barely audible.
I dropped to my knees, wrapping my arms around him. The room was bare except for a thin blanket and an empty water bottle. No toys, no food, nothing. My stomach turned. “Who locked you in here?” I asked softly. He hesitated. “Lucy said… I was bad. She said I had to stay.”
I felt my heart pound in disbelief. Lucy—the woman who just called me sounding carefree from a resort—had left this little boy alone for who knows how long. I picked him up and carried him out, my mind spinning. The clock in the kitchen read 6:42 PM. How many meals had he missed?The dispatcher’s voice was calm, almost too calm, as I stammered through what I’d found. Within ten minutes, a patrol car pulled into the driveway, lights flashing softly in the twilight. Ethan clung to my arm, refusing to let go. Officer Daniels, a tall man with kind eyes, crouched beside him. “Hey buddy, you’re safe now,” he said gently.
They took my statement in the living room while paramedics gave Ethan water and checked his vitals. I told them about Lucy’s call, about the locked door, about how I hadn’t seen any signs of the dog she claimed to own. “So, there’s no dog at all?” the officer asked. I shook my head. “She said she had one, but… I’ve never seen Bailey. I thought maybe they got a new one recently.”Ethan sat quietly, clutching the blanket around his shoulders. When Daniels asked if he remembered when Lucy left, he whispered, “Two sleeps ago.” Two days. My stomach twisted again.
By 8 PM, child protective services had arrived. They spoke softly, careful not to frighten him. Meanwhile, the police traced Lucy’s number, confirming she was indeed at the Ocean Crest Resort with Tom—her husband, my brother. When Daniels got off the phone, his face was grim. “They checked out of tfeed her dog — but when I got there, there was no dog at all… only my brother’s 5-year-old stepson, locked in a room, starving and terrified…
When my phone rang that Thursday afternoon, I didn’t think twice before answering. “Hey, Lucy,” came my sister-in-law’s cheerful voice. “Tom and I are at the Ocean Crest Resort for the weekend. Could you please feed Bailey? We left in a rush.” I smiled—of course, I’d feed her golden retriever. Lucy and Tom were always spontaneous, and I lived just ten minutes away.
