Chapter 2The Police Director Regrets Disowning His Hero Daughter

Dad’s mouth twitched. It was as if a thousand needles were lodged in his throat. He swallowed hard before speaking with effort.

“Do you still want your daughter? If not, I’m sending her to the State Home.”

“What the hell is this? I’m sending my daughter to school! Who are you?”

The voice on the other end was angry and completely unfamiliar.

“Are these scam calls getting this sloppy? If you curse my daughter again, I’m calling the police and having you arrested.”

The line disconnected. I felt a sudden jolt of realization. Seven years was so long. Even my phone number had been recycled and reassigned.

Dad slowly lowered the phone, his lips a thin, tight line. His finger aimlessly traced the screen.

“So cold-blooded. She won’t even claim her own child.”

Miller sighed and patted Dad's shoulder.

Dad exhaled, then his brow suddenly furrowed.

“I want a full trace on Sloane Wallace. Where has she been all these years? Child abuse, abandonment. If this is all true, I won’t let her get away with it.”

“What about her?” Miller pointed to Phoebe, who had calmed down and was looking at them expectantly.

Dad looked at her for a long time.

“I’ll take her to a State Home.”

When Dad held out his hand, Phoebe obediently took it and walked behind him. She was so good, so obedient. Her journey had been long and difficult, all because I told her:

“Phoebe, don’t cry.”

Seven days and six nights. Even when she fell down a rocky slope, her knees bloody and scraped, she didn't shed a single tear.

When she was chased by stray dogs fighting over scraps in the early hours, or kicked into a dark alley by a disgusted passerby, she only wiped her eyes, bit her lip, and continued on her journey.

I told her:

“Phoebe, you must listen to Mr. Wallace.”

Despite being bruised and scarred by men, she didn't resist or struggle when Dad held out his hand, following him docilely toward an unknown future.

I floated silently behind Phoebe, but I wasn't as strong as she was. Tears streamed from my eyes. A single tear fell onto her cheek.

Phoebe seemed to feel something. She looked up slightly.

“Mr. Wallace, I think it's raining.”

Dad didn’t say anything. He just spread his hand to cover her head. The two of them drove in silence to the State Home entrance.

The Director there looked at the scarred Phoebe with deep sympathy. She murmured constantly.

“Such a poor child. Is this another one you rescued?”

Dad simply nodded, gently pushing Phoebe toward the Director.

“Just for a few days of temporary placement. Once we find her mother… I’ll come back for her.”

The Director agreed. Phoebe stood still, clutching the backpack, her eyes wide with terror. She nervously darted her gaze around, as if searching for someone.

I watched Dad’s resolute back, shouting in despair.

“Dad, don’t leave Phoebe! She walked so far to find you! They’re the last hope! If she’s found, she’ll die! We’ll all die!”

But no one could hear my voice. I could do nothing but circle helplessly. A deep feeling of powerlessness enveloped me, making my soul feel heavy.

Phoebe suddenly let out a short, sharp scream. She fiercely shielded the backpack and crouched in the corner, muttering repeatedly.

“Don’t catch me, don’t catch me, oh God, I won’t go back.”

I knew this was Phoebe’s core trauma response, but Dad didn't. Everyone fell silent, watching Phoebe curl up on the ground, crying frantically.

“Sloane…”

Miller’s eyes were getting red, but they didn’t utter any more harsh words. I felt a familiar lump in my throat. They had never changed. Always so compassionate and kind. That’s why I had desperately sent the only escapee to them.

Dad’s hands were shaking as he knelt down. He stopped Phoebe's movements and pulled her into his arms, his voice ragged.

“Sloane taught you to threaten me like this?”