I Prayed for a Miracle—Now I Lock My Door at Night

He pointed toward the dresser, the one I’d shoved against my own door.

“What’s that?” he demanded.

My stomach dropped.

I hadn’t put it back yet.

Because I’d been in his room. Because I’d been crying. Because I’d been pretending.

“That’s… nothing,” I said too fast. “Just furniture.”

Tyler’s eyes narrowed, calculating in a way that always scares me. People continue reading …