It was a calm afternoon in the small town of Pinos Verdes, where the usual sounds of birds, lawnmowers, and passing cars blended into a peaceful melody. Officer José López had just finished his lunch and was preparing to return to the station when his radio crackled to life. The dispatcher’s voice was unusually tense.
“Unit Seven, we have a report of a distressed child calling from 214 Maple Street. Caller is an eight-year-old girl. She said, ‘It was my dad and his friend… please help.’ No further details.”
José froze for a second, pen still in his hand. A child’s voice—trembling, scared—lingered in his mind. Without hesitation, he grabbed his keys and headed straight for the door. Calls involving children always struck a deep chord with him; they were unpredictable, fragile, and often heartbreaking.
The House on Maple Street
When José arrived at the quiet suburban street, he immediately noticed the house in question. It was modest, its paint faded by years of sunlight and rain. A few toys were scattered across the front yard—a plastic doll missing one arm, a deflated ball, and a small bicycle lying on its side. The grass was overgrown, hinting that life inside might not be easy.
He stepped out of his patrol car, his boots crunching softly on the gravel. He could feel the tension before he even reached the door. With a steady breath, he knocked gently but firmly. “Police department,” he called out. “Is anyone home?”
For a few seconds, there was silence. Then, the door opened just a crack. A little girl peeked out, her big brown eyes filled with both fear and hope.
“Hi there,” José said softly, crouching down so their eyes met. “Are you Liliana?”
The girl nodded slowly. “Yes,” she whispered. She held a teddy bear tightly against her chest. The toy’s fur was matted and faded, but it was clear it had been loved dearly.
José gave her a reassuring smile. “You did the right thing calling for help. I’m here now. Is your mom or dad inside?”
Liliana hesitated. “Mom’s sleeping,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “She wouldn’t wake up.”
José’s heart sank, but he kept his tone calm. “Okay. We’ll check on her, all right? But first, how are you feeling? Are you hurt?”
She shook her head at first, but then placed a small hand on her stomach. “It hurts,” she whispered. “A lot.”
José immediately radioed for an ambulance, his voice steady but urgent. “Dispatch, this is Unit Seven. I need medical assistance at 214 Maple Street. Child complaining of severe stomach pain, adult unresponsive inside.”