There was none.

“What did you do?” I asked again, my voice tight.

“She was throwing a tantrum,” Jennifer said, annoyed. “So I gave her some Benadryl to calm her down.”

The world seemed to narrow around those words.

“How much?” I asked.

She hesitated. “A few pills.”

“She’s six!” I shouted, my voice breaking.

Jennifer rolled her eyes, acting like I was overreacting.

That’s when I stopped arguing.

I called 911.

“My daughter is unconscious,” I told the operator. “I think she’s been drugged.”

I held Lily’s hand, trying to keep her with me, whispering desperately as I waited.

Jennifer leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching like this was nothing.

The paramedics arrived quickly. The lead one—Martinez—knelt beside Lily, checking her vitals with focused urgency.

“How long has she been like this?” he asked.

“I just found her,” I said. “Maybe ten minutes.”

Then his eyes shifted to Jennifer.

And everything changed.

His expression went from professional to something else—recognition, then alarm.

He stood slowly, staring at her.

“Sir… is that really your wife?” he asked quietly.

My stomach dropped.

“Yes,” I said—but suddenly, I wasn’t sure of anything.

Martinez swallowed. “Because she matches the description of someone we’ve been warned about. Multiple cases. Children. Sedatives.”

I felt the ground slip beneath me.

Lily was rushed onto a stretcher, oxygen mask secured as machines beeped around her.

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