— Dad, I’m scared of the second pit… I hear sounds from there. There are animals. They’ll bite you… Emma whispered, clinging to my neck.

I thought it was a child’s fear. That the cold, the night, and the punishment had done their work. But from the darkness, there really did come a quiet sob.

I slowly moved the boards aside and shone the light down.

There was a child in the pit. Alive. Covered in dirt. It was my son-in-law’s son — Brenda’s nephew.

In that moment, something pierced straight through me. For a second, I even thought it was all because of me. That Emma was not their blood, that was why they treated her so cruelly. That it was a hidden revenge, a cold rejection.

But looking at the second child, I understood the terrible truth: it wasn’t about blood. Not about me. And not about Emma.

It was their method.

Fear as discipline. The pit as a tool of obedience.

I pulled the boy out and placed the children behind me.

— Don’t come any closer, I said to Myrtle when she stepped toward me. My voice was calm, but it held not a single ounce of doubt.

Brenda stood in the doorway, pale, lost.

I took out my phone and called the police. I briefly explained that there were two children and two pits in the yard.

That night, I understood one thing: sometimes the monster is not the one hiding in the forest. It’s the one who calls their methods “care.”