The call came on a Tuesday afternoon, and I knew something was wrong the moment I heard Sophia's voice.
She was crying. I'd never heard Sophia cry before—not really cry, not like this. She'd always been so composed, so controlled, even when everything was falling apart around her. Even when her mother had been exposed, even when her world had crumbled, she'd held herself together. But now she was breaking.
"Ruby," she gasped, her voice cracking, barely recognizable through the sobs. "I need help. I don't know what to do. I'm so scared. I've never been so scared in my life."
I was in the study, going through foundation paperwork. I set down my pen, my heart racing, my blood running cold. "Sophia? What happened? What's wrong? Tell me everything."
